Perhaps one of my favorite little chunks of the March/Phyllis novella I’m slowly writing along Crystal Whisperer.
Phyllis meets 26 year old March for the first time … 🙂
I look up and there’s something —someone— standing in front of my desk. I blink, taking in the perfectly pressed and hideously cut brown golf pants, just short enough to reveal white tennis socks and —holy shit— spit-shined black loafers. I want to stop there, because as I keep looking up, I can already see some sort of worn olive hunting jacket, and a cream knit shirt straight from a 60’s TV show. This man needs help.
Scratch that. This hot, young man needs help.
Mid-twenties, a solid six-feet tall, nicely built under that clownish outfit. I’d absolutely tap that. Good face too. I’m not a fan of the deep-set eyes, and I usually like the lips I kiss to be a little fuller, but still, take the clothes off, and you find yourself with a bona fide blue-eyed hunk and . . . no. The hair is where I draw the line. I assume he did that himself with clippers. There’s not much left, and I’d call it a crew cut if the guy hadn’t managed to do a side part, slicked with a liberal amount of hair gel.