I’m onto him. Soon.



He wasn’t just attractive, he was hot. In a way that made the poetically inclined bemoan the fact that ‘hot’ is just a three-letter word. He dealt with all the attention like a pro who knew no other state of life. He was always in training and there wasn’t a single person, male or female, that knocked him off his stride. He carried himself with the supreme confidence that is genetically excised from the makeup of the less attractive. He was a God and he didn’t care who knew it. She was going to make a meal of him.



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