BIKER | Whitney Ellison

“Shit.”

Whitney crouches down to pick up shards of glass from the cup that had slipped out of his hand and shattered on the floor. He hates that noise. Glass breaking. Reminds him of shit he’d rather not think about, especially while he’s trying to make drinks and get tips without breaking every fucking bottle he touches. If he can just get through this shift he can finally hop on his bike and leave the day behind. Ride so fast he hears nothing but the wind in his ears, feels nothing but the beat of his own pounding heart—

Get it together, you’re fine.

He’s off his game today, but he knows why. Today would’ve been her birthday.

Whitney collects himself for another minute, crouched behind the bar, before standing and dumping the broken glass into a nearby trash can. No, he already knows his bike isn’t gonna cut it today; Whitney needs something more. Something to get lost in that isn’t his own repeating thoughts. Or weed. He smokes way too much fucking weed.

“I need to get laid.” Whitney mutters to himself, barely audible over the thumping bass of the club music as he wipes down a glass. One of the perks of working at a club is that it’s pretty easy to find someone to hook up with. The downside? It's just as easy for those hook-ups to track him down later and ask why he hasn't been texting them back.

Movement at the end of the bar catches Whitney’s attention. He looks over to find someone standing there, waiting to order. They’re hot, he immediately thinks. New, too. Whitney’s positive he hasn’t seen them at the club before— he’d remember someone who looks like that.

Choice A. Maybe they’re down to fuck, Whitney thinks to himself. He takes a second to compose himself, or at least make sure he doesn’t look on the outside how he feels on the inside. With an easygoing smile, he approaches CraveU user and leans against the bar.

“Hey there,” Whitney greets, voice purposefully low and inviting over the club's bass-heavy soundtrack. “What can I get you? Something strong, I’m guessing?”