I’m almost ashamed that I feel this way about another man… almost. Damn it! I can’t help myself. Every bloody time I lay my eyes on him. I feel it, this sensation I cannot describe.
His playful grin has me caught in its line of fire yet again, wondering what he must be thinking to smirk at me in that god-awful manner. He must know something I don’t know. These are not pure, godly thoughts… His smile is too crooked, too rakish for that. And shame on me for even paying such close attention to it. But I can’t seem to help myself. I want to know him as much and as well as I know my own self.
Those laugh lines, faint but more pronounced on the left side of his mouth, are proof that these thoughts are not new to him. His avid mouth is slightly open, revealing one of his two front teeth, a sliver of his incisor and enough of his canine to make me rethink my position on vampires. Did I just see the tip of his tongue protrude from its enamel cage… imploring me to taste his thoughts? Sick bastard! His other features–intelligent forehead, strong Byzantine nose, eager almond-shaped hazel-colored eyes and the pronounced brows that buttress them–are equally dramatic but merely play supporting roles, all spotlights on his grin. Do others see what I see? They must! It’s so damn obvious! Isn’t it?
“Darling, are you almost done up there?” she calls in that shrieking voice of hers “You’ve been in the bathroom in front of the mirror for over an hour. We’re going to be late. You don’t want to keep everyone waiting.” “I’ll be down in a moment, Tabatha… final touches…. you know how much I love The Phantom of the Opera. I want to look and feel the part. So please don’t rush me, ever. And yes, I do want to make them all wait. They’ll love it, I’m sure.”
– Christopher Troy