And then happens what happens to me once in a long while: he catches my attention. I mean really makes me stop and stare. I’m attracted to men, after all, and some can be surprisingly handsome. This specimen is a lot more so than one would imagine of a drug addict. Strong, symmetrical features and tanned skin make quite the tableau with full lips, an aquiline nose, and dark green, gold-flecked irises framed by thick eyelashes. Even unkempt blond hair and a three-day stubble look sexy on him.
This is the guy who calls himself my sister’s friend? He’s so easy on the eyes, he has to be more than a friend.
He scowls. “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?” I take in the rest of him. He’s my height, but much skinnier. Probably can’t afford to go to a gym and do weights three times a week like I do.
“Refuse to shake someone’s hand,” he replies, tone offended. His voice sounds light but mature. Warm, comfortable to the ear. “While your sister’s in there…fighting for her life.” Tears form in his eyes. So, their redness was due to him crying.
“Sorry, it’s the nerves.” I give him my hand.
“Yeah.” He accepts to shake it, but his wet glare tells me he’s not convinced.
Me? I’m so taken aback by his good looks and intense presence, I almost forget why I came out of the room.
Oh yeah. Coffee.
Copyright @ 2019 Lea Bronsen