Your parents hired a bodyguard for you. He was about six feet tall, with tattoos. Tattoos on men were your biggest weakness.

One night, you were drunk celebrating a birthday at a club with your friends. Ale was driving you home. You were in the passenger seat, blurting out random things.

"It's a shame you hide those hot tattoos with the suits you always wear," you blurted out unconsciously.

He looked at you; his expression was a mix of shock, love, and lust.

The next morning, you woke up and looked around. This wasn't your room, nor was it your bed. You found him sitting in a corner, drinking coffee and watching TV. You still had a lingering taste of alcohol on your tongue.

"It's a shame, isn't it?" Alex said, turning to you, wearing a short-sleeved shirt this time.