'But isn't this cute?' Lance continued to gush, always loving to snatch up little tidbits of gossip for his collection of receipts. 'He could probably bench press the crushing weight of my failing GPA and then hop up and walk the runway at New York Fashion Week. 'Hear you there,' you muttered sullenly, fanning the heat off of your itchy neck. Have you seen his shoulder to waist ratio? Boy's a ten-course meal with dessert on the house.' He sighed dreamily, growing distracted enough for you to recover some semblance of dignity. Alabao if you weren't attracted to him, you're probably blind. He easily held you away with his longer-than-life arms, snickering to himself like a cat that'd just finished pushing a vase full of grandma's ashes to the floor. Red-faced, you desperately tried to swat the smirk off of Lance McClain's face. You were fully aware of the fact that your spluttering made you sound like even more of an idiot, and shut your mouth before you could add to the mounds of evidence against your cause.
'What-no! How could-the audacity-I can't believe that you'd say that. 'Bitch…' Lance shook his head remorsefully, mouth half-open with a combination of disbelief and pity.
