Christopher Lancelot subconsciously lowered his car window, his gaze fixed upon her.
Xyla Quest stroked her hair as it billowed with the wind, tossing the strands of hair scattered on her chest to her back.
Holding her helmet in one hand, she pranced toward Christopher and languidly placed her other hand on his car roof. “I won.”
Christopher got out of his car and stood in front of Xyla. Casually closing the car door, he took off the helmet and met her eyes. “Alright then. What do you want me to do? I can do whatever you want me to do.”
Xyla shook her head in response. “Nah. I don’t have anything in particular to ask from you.”
“Hey, that’s our deal. Don’t waste your only chance to instruct me to do something for you. Xyla, I can give you anything as long you can name it,” Christopher said.
“Well, why don’t you buy me a drink?” Xyla pondered for a short while.
Her brain had regained its composure as soon as her car pulled up.
Once again, grief crept over her like a hungry
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