Clocks are the only thing you hear in a house when you're all alone. Have you ever noticed that?

Everything else is mind-numbingly quiet.

I looked over into the kitchen. A bunch of dishes were piled up by the sink. Intensely bored, my mind drifted away into some kind of fantasy. My head tilted back and I stared blankly at the ceiling. It was just beginning to get dark. Around six thirty.

I had nowhere to go, no boyfriend, and no job.

Earlier that day, I'd been fired from my position at one of the most elite fashion magazines in the country. My boss- who was my boyfriend, decided he was more interested in the skinny blonde intern with big boobs. She got my job, and I got two weeks' consolation pay and a swift kick to the curb.

There's the trouble with rich men. Women are trophies. You might be considered a prize one day, until something better comes along the next.

I didn't feel like watching TV, because; well, let's face it- there's really never anything good on. So my mind just stayed stagnant. Drool may have been forming in the crease of my mouth. I didn't care. I was pretending that I was driving a motorcycle.

No, wait, I really did hear a motorcycle.

The sound echoed off of my apartment building with rumbling ferocity. It grew louder and louder until I became annoyed.

I got up slowly, my legs were stiff from inactivity. At the big square window, several stories below, I saw a man on a huge black Harley. He was in black leather from head to toe. He wasn't even wearing a helmet. His lips were frozen in a cocky smirk.

"Jackass" I thought to myself. Must be here to pick up the trashy slut in 4G. Sometimes I swore that woman was an actual prostitute.

She always had dates. What was her secret?

I reclaimed my position on the couch, gently nudging a huge gray Persian cat out of the way. "Yep" I said to myself "This is what's it's going to be like now for the rest of my life. Me and my cat on a Friday night."

Okay so I'm only twenty five, but at that moment, I felt about a hundred.

The job issue was going to be a problem. A huge sigh came over me. I had to find a newspaper, and look at the classified section. Since so many old people lived in this building, I knew there might be one or two discarded ones out in the lobby.

I took the stairs all the way down, and stood in front of the glass doors. The motorcycle guy was standing there, staring at me. I looked back at him. He was young, maybe mid twenties, and shockingly cute. He had a square, muscular jawline and frosty blonde hair. He pointed at me.

I blinked. "Uh, do you need someone?" I shouted through the glass.

"Yeah," his voice was like velvet. "You look lonely. Why don't you come for a ride with me?"

I should have turned around and locked myself back in my apartment, where I knew it was safe, but just this once, I wanted an adventure.

Oh, boy, did I get one!