“Wow.”
It takes me a second to adjust to the dim lighting and locate the source of the voice.
Once my eyes have adjusted, I find myself looking straight into the eyes of three men. The first thing that I think when I see them is rough. Rough expressions, rough tattoos, rough facial hair. They’re wearing leather jackets that are almost matching, save for a few different patches. They vary in their facial hair scruffiness, but they’re all sporting stubble of varying lengths. Their skin is tan and callused, like you’d expect from someone who worked long hours outside. They all have bodies that look like they were built through manual labor, and not in a gym.
Another one of the men speaks, and I detect a slight southern drawl.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he says.
I blush and
