Chapter 1

After people found out I was juggling three backup guys, my roommate Isabelle Frost couldn't help but tease me.

She said, "I kinda feel bad for your future husband. He'll probably pour his heart and money into it, only to end up with a wife who's already had a few test drives."

I was scrolling through my phone when a half-hearted reply from Chase Ryder popped up three days late. I glanced up at Isabelle's smug face and suddenly felt both tired and a little amused.

After a moment's hesitation, I put my phone down and said flatly: "Want me to hand one of my backups over to you?"

Isabelle's perfectly painted lips parted in surprise, her eyes going wide.

Her shock lasted only a few seconds before curiosity and a hint of disdain took over.

"Hand one over to me? Riley Dean, what am I, shopping for your hand-me-downs?" She tossed her hair and strolled over to my bed. "Alright, which one? Let me see if he's even worth the trouble."

I pulled up Chase Ryder's feed: only the last three days were visible, and it was totally blank. The background pic had changed though, now showing a close-up of his motorcycle. That bike definitely cost a fortune.

"Here's Chase Ryder. He's a racer, looks good, killer body, but he's kind of a player. He texts back only when he's in the mood." I paused, then added, "Transfer fee's 30 grand."

"30 grand? Are you out of your mind?" Isabelle shrieked.

I kept quiet and just turned my phone toward her, showing off the homepage of a boutique jewelry brand that's famous for its sky-high prices. The newest necklace had a six-figure price tag.

Chase had flexed it last week with the caption, [Good for gifting.] He never said who he'd give it to, but Isabelle couldn't take her eyes off that price tag.

Her mind was racing, scrolling through thoughts like, 'Taking him on isn't a bad deal,' 'Maybe he's actually loaded,' and 'If I win, it's a huge score; if I lose, no big deal.' The silence in the dorm lingered for a good thirty seconds.

She found herself asking, "So how does this handover work?"

I sent Chase's contact info to Isabelle, along with a meticulously written "character cheat sheet": "Remember, you're a sweet and innocent college girl from a regular family who works part-time, totally clueless about bikes but super curious.

"You think racers are awesome, and most importantly, you completely idolize him. Always reply to his texts right away, and occasionally show your concern in a cute, clumsy way."

Isabelle snorted. "Seriously? That's so textbook."

"Textbook works," I replied, still busy packing my stuff. "Oh, and he's been listening to this indie band called Fog Alley lately. Drop their name, see what happens."

Isabelle was a force of nature. That very night, her desk was covered in album reviews and info about Fog Alley.

Within three days, her social media was flooded with study selfies at cafes, with a copy of "Motorcycle Mechanics for Beginners" peeking out in the background.

She even posted about how working hard to buy headphones just to listen to Fog Alley made her days feel so fulfilling. She somehow got her hands on a cheap motorcycle photo and captioned it, [First step toward my dream bike.]

Sure enough, Chase started replying more. His one-word replies turned into questions like "You listen to Fog Alley too?" and "You actually know about bikes?" and then, "It's pretty rare for a girl to know this stuff."

A week later, Isabelle got a package. Inside was that six-figure necklace from the official site. She spent the whole night admiring it in the mirror, and the next day, she made sure to flaunt it in front of me at least three times.

"He said I'm like the gem on this necklace: looks ordinary, but has a hidden brilliance," Isabelle said, her smug grin impossible to hide. "30 grand? I bet I'll earn it back soon enough."

I just smiled at the sparkle on her neck and kept my thoughts to myself.

I first met Chase at a mountain street race meet. I was just working backstage as a temp, handing out water to the racers. He took off his helmet, sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, that wild look in his eyes.

When he grabbed the water, his fingertips accidentally grazed my hand. Later, he said it was because I watched him race with such cool composure, not like those girls who just scream their heads off.

I knew he was rich, not because of his tricked-out cars and expensive gear, but from that low-key but rare mechanical watch he wore, and the way he grumbled about his old man making him run some crappy branch office.

I haven't met many trust fund kids playing at real life, but I know the type when I see it.

We kept things ambiguous. He liked that I wasn't clingy or demanding, and I liked having someone impressive as a backup option.

About six months ago, I landed in the hospital for an emergency appendectomy and was short on cash. On a whim, I texted him, asking if he could lend me ten grand for a week.

My message disappeared without a trace. Three days after I got out, he finally replied: [Just saw this. What's up? Been busy with races.]

Staring at my phone, whatever little spark I had for him fizzled out completely. Backup? Maybe.

But if he couldn't even be there in an emergency, even as a backup, he was pointless. I never replied, and he acted like nothing happened, still sending invites every now and then. I always responded politely, but kept my distance.

Isabelle cut through my thoughts. "So, like, Chase wants to meet up this weekend. In person. At the Summit Coffee. Says he wants to see the real 'me'". She really leaned into that 'me', then shot me a look.

"You should come too, Riley. I mean, you're the one who 'handed him over'. Wanna come see your old merchandise?" She asked.

I caught the eager spark in her eyes, mixed with a playful challenge, and nodded. "Sure."

The Summit Cafe was perched halfway up the mountain, with a killer view of the city. Isabelle was dressed to impress in a white dress that looked innocent but was actually pretty calculated, with that necklace on full display.

I, on the other hand, was in a simple T-shirt and jeans, sitting quietly in the corner by the window, trying to blend in.

When Chase walked in, he brought a restless breeze with him. Dressed in black leather, tall and striking, he had that usual laid-back, wild look in his eyes.

He walked right up to Isabelle, but his eyes barely paused on her before locking onto me.

Isabelle stood up with a sweet smile. "Chase, over here."

Chase pulled out a chair and sat down, his eyes never leaving me. "Who's that?"

"My roommate, Riley Dean. She came with me," Isabelle said, trying to pull his focus back to her. "I even mapped out the route to that motorcycle-themed restaurant you mentioned."