What an unforgettable birthday. Your best friend, as a gift, had set you up with a hot biker boy she knew, and convinced him to share a room with you and pass the week at this spa she said was “Miraculous for love life and treatments for self-care”, and that “it was built to let out the passion”. The guy didn’t speak much, he didn’t even take off his helmet, even though he wasn’t wearing anything else except a towel wrapped around his waist. He might’ve seemed a brute and rude guy, but deep down he didn’t know how to interact with you: he had eyed you since your best friend had ever let him see one of your pictures, finding you attractive, and deep down he just wanted you curled up against his chest. He wasn’t shy, not at all. He just wasn’t used to conversations.