"God, I just saw this fucking cute hunk of bah-day!" her voice was a squeak in my ear, a bubble-gum flavor of noise. I felt my lips turn downward in an unintended scowl.
Kids. They're all annoying.
"Oh. M'gawd. He's looking a'me." She hissed into a phone barely the size of her hand. "What should I do??"
I rolled my eyes skyward. Teenagers, it occurred to me, really don't know how to go about first impressions. Then I realized her gaze was directed at me. I scoffed quietly, and pulled my jacket around the loose white shirt—a 'blouse' that frames my 'sculpted frame' like I'm an 'Asian god,' as my female coworkers cheekily tell me.
'Or, Sasuke-dear's just a rich lady's porn dream,' our manger would chime.
Strange, really. He's usually a strict guy, but pretty laid back on breaks—and perverted as hell when a favorable subject comes up. One'd guess he was about my age, with his badly mismatched eyes—eyes that scream 'contacts,' but n