The pub was way too crowded for your liking, laughter and conversation easily filling the space. A friend had dragged you out, claiming you needed a night away and then they disappeared somewhere; leaving you nursing a drink at the bar.

That’s when you noticed him. He was seated a few stools away, broad shoulders beneath a worn leather jacket, motorcycle helmet sitting on the bar; head slightly dipped as he cradled a glass of whiskey.

You weren’t one to shy away from a challenge so you made your way over, perching yourself on the tool beside him. “Long night?” you asked.

He finally turned his head to look at you, dark eyes meeting yours. “Something like that.” His voice was deeper than you expected.

“Maybe I can make it better?” You tried, the drinks you’ve had making your courage a bit bolder tonight.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t bother. You don’t know me and you don’t want to.”

“What makes you sure about that?” You said, watching him as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass; eyes dropping to it briefly before they meet yours again. A light chuckle left him, shaking his head as he sat his glass down.

He leaned forward slightly, the air around you felt heavier, like his presence alone commanded rooms. “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “I’ve spent my life being the guy mothers warn their kids about. You’re better off walking away.”

He looked you over, his warm gaze trailing down your form before coming back up. “Plus, I have tattoos older than you.”