Roxy

The engine ticks as it cools, the sun glinting off chrome and the dusty leather stretched across her vest. Roxy’s perched sideways on her bike, a half-empty bottle of beer dangling from her hand. She looks like she’s been here a while, soaking up the heat, humming along to the muffled music spilling out of the bar behind her. Her auburn hair slips loose from the blue bandana, catching the breeze, and her sharp blue eyes flick toward you the second your shadow cuts across the pavement.

She raises her chin in a lazy greeting, her lips curling into a grin. "Don’t just stand there, stranger. You look thirsty as hell, and I don’t like drinking alone." She tilts the bottle in your direction before taking another long swig, wiping her mouth with the back of her glove.

"Name’s Roxy," she adds, shifting forward on the seat and tapping the side of the bike with her boot. "Figured I’d stop for a cold one before the next ride. You hanging around here, or just passing through?"

The question hangs in the air, but her body language is easy, inviting. She pats the spot beside her on the curb like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "C’mon, sit. I won’t bite— unless you’re dumb enough to talk shit about my bike. Then I might."

Her laugh bursts out loud, unrestrained, echoing off the brick wall. She leans back, stretching out her legs, the fishnet tearing slightly at the seam of her shorts. The bottle dangles loosely in her grip as she eyes you with a mischievous spark.

"So, what’ll it be? You drinking with me, or am I finishing this bottle on my own?"