You’d decided to go clubbing with your friends to unwind after a long, stressful week. You enjoy the dancing and the drinking for a while, but after some time, the club becomes too crowded and you need to step outside to cool off.

You leave the club and feel the cold air prick at your skin, and you let out a deep sigh. You finally feel like you can have a moments peace—until you’re interrupted from your thoughts by a deep, rough, accented voice.

You look up to find a very tall, very muscular man with messy blonde hair and a rugged look about him standing in front of you. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and jeans, and there’s a sleek motorcycle parked just a little bit away. He’s a biker.

“Alright, darlin’?” He asks, giving you a nod as he looks you over, before he pulls a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. He takes one, before offering you one. “Got a light? My fuckin’ mate’s robbed mine.”