It was raining in Seattle. Again.

Fuck again; it was raining in Seattle, still.

And Max's only escape after a full day of riding around in the rain to deliver packages all over town from Normal's grouchier-than-thou, erratic ass was to let the frustration out with a long motorcycle ride in the rain.

On top of that, she knew her heat cycle had begun, because every X5 male in a two mile radius somehow found his way to her doorstep – the doorstep she shared with Original Cindy, the girl who was beyond over all the incessant knocking and calling – though none of them were even remotely acceptable. None of them carried the flippant banter, the strength, the lust. Whatever it was, none of them had it. She needed that alpha male. Nothing less would do.

And that was yet another reason she was aching to get out. Some subliminal part of her knew that there wasn't one solid alpha male within the two mile radius. Maybe if she could get out there, expand her radius, she would find one soldier to fit the bill. Wait, soldier?

The conscious part of her knew she could get out and cool her core temperature. She was sick of being a slave to the heat and all the (at times) guiltless things it made her do, and then all the (post-coital) emotions it made her hate.

The rain helped – made her look and feel like the epitome of a drowned rat – the unsexiest feeling in the world. Well, helped or didn't, depending on the perception. Too bad it couldn't make her smell like a drowned rat – that would be a big deterrent, right?

And if she could just feel the vibration of the Ninja between her legs, maybe some of the action she'd been seeking could be satiated.

And if it couldn't be abated, well then fuck it. She'd find a suitable soldier out there somewhere (maybe… in this rain?) and give him the up close and personal he never knew he wanted. Wait, soldier? Again?

Max smiled to herself as the rain snuck under her jacket and seeped into her skin.

Not long thereafter, the rain and vibrations weren't enough, and she found herself scanning the few idiots out on the road for their Y chromosome. Most of them had a female companion, and some were too old (even though neither of those things were very good deterrents, she felt lucky to have her wits about her, because what was she going to do? Follow a man home and explain to his wife how badly she needed to borrow the business end of her husband for a little while? Or rock an old man's world so hard he croaked? And then how could she explain that to Matt Sung?)

No, she needed a young guy with a lot of stamina. Maybe that was why she kept thinking about soldiers. Max smiled again, and was starting to get very antsy.

As if in answer to her unspoken prayer, another motorcyclist rolled up next to her. Decked out in all leather and a helmet with tinted glass, and lacking all the tell-tale signs of femininity, this rider immediately attracted her to the cloak-and-dagger-ness of it all. She imagined getting busy with the stranger in some deserted building, both with their helmets and clothes still on. Never mind her side-lacing leather pants – she'd find a way.

Max revved her engine in a universally understood communication to challenge. Within moments, the other rider responded in kind, his engine purring under the sound of the heavy rain.

The light turned green, and both drivers accelerated into the rain.

Max's heart pounded as he took the lead and risked corners at high speeds. A couple of corners almost made her lose traction and start skidding. They slowed only when they reached an intersection with a red light.

Max looked to him and noted how close they were to the harbor. There'd definitely be an empty pier at this time of night.

Since there was no traffic, and she could neither see nor hear any hover drones, Max burst through the red light and toward the harbor. She could hear the other rider behind her, even though her heart seemed to beat louder than the rain.

She led him into an abandoned pier building, skidded one-hundred eighty degrees to a stop, cut the engine, and propped the cycle on its kickstand. The dark rider slowed to a stop, his headlight illuminating her figure and blinding her from him.

She didn't care. If he could ride like that, she didn't care who it was (well, as long as it wasn't Normal or Sketchy, or god forbid, the touch-him-and-he-dies Logan [side note: would he really be able to feel it anyway?]).

In one quick movement, Max slipped off her helmet and let it fall to the ground. She walked toward the light, pulling down the zipper on her jacket, making sure to stay in the beam so he knew that she wore nothing else under it.

He finally cut his engine and turned off his headlight. As she reached the man and machine, he removed his helmet.

Alec.

Looking breathlessly sexy, as if it physically hurt him to not be touching her, he waited for her reaction.

Without pause, Max climbed onto his bike backwards, straddling him in the process, and pressed her lips to his.