Punk edit in the media.
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He lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag and blowing it in my face. "Really? " I asked, waving it away. He shrugged and took another drag.
The flashing strobe lights in the club reflect off his lip stud, and I take a moment to check him out. His blonde hair is pushed to the side, the blackened ends resting just above his eyes.
His tattoos are on display, his shoulders bare because of his band singlet. His wrists were full of silicone wristbands, but I could see more tattoos peeking out. His legs seemed to go on for days, encased tightly in black denim; artfully frayed and holey in all the right places.
His jeans led down to his vans-clad feet. A small chuckle brings my eyes back up to his face, only to find him staring back at me.
"Like what you see, Princess?"
I flushed and quickly turned my head away. He placed his hand on the take and I could see the metal glint of two rings on his fingers.
Jesus, he looked just like heaven and hell all mixed up, and I'd be damned if I said I didn't want him.
