“Are you sure you don’t model on the side or something?” I blurt out the question, watching Michael’s cheeks get red, and the glance he gives me makes me think that he doesn’t believe me.
I’m the one who’s usually getting red, be it from sweating and lifting weights or blushing because I usually have Michael’s undivided attention when I’m doing those things.
It’s endearing, his blush, the way it burns underneath his golden skin, glancing away from me, a hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing a spot there.
It’s not fair, though, that I get to walk around with a guy like Michael Nash who looks like that, and who’s awesome like that, and I’m just a paltrier version of myself, a level one noob, yet to wet my blade with first blood. And here I am, walking side-by-side with the king
