Chapter 5 Mooooove

This walking adonis was swoon-worthy.

The first thing that drew her attention was the height difference - he was at least 6'3, closely followed by the long sleeve tattoo that covered both of his arms with a lot of design – including skulls, twisted numerical – on them. Stripped to the waist, his torso was bare for her to drool over. His shoulders were broad; that kind you would graciously lick the devil's ass to your head lean on. He had a solid masculine chest crowned with strong biceps. A well-built upper body. And the lower part, she didn't dare to look. She peaked though...his jeans hung low on boxers on his waist, revealing a prominent V on his lower abdomen.

But wait. How long had she been staring like a bluidy pervert? Why hadn't he said anything? Oh, no. She didn't mean to ogle for so long and wasn't sure of what to feel. She screwed up bad. She had all her life despised difficult moments like the one she was presently in.

Swallowing hard, she forced her head to face him only to catch his cold blue eyes all on her, unflinching gazing; those icy eyes of his lingered on the oversized shirt she wore.

The shirt didn't really look pretty on her; it only gave her the look of a day old lad in adults' diaper.

She inwardly yelled. It is his.

Oh, yeah. I know, even a baptized plonker knows! She huffed back in her head.

What could she say to break this awkward silence and save herself from melting at his heated gaze? Quickly say, thank you a great deal for saving my little arse from those knobheads? Or yell at him for not paying attention to where he was heading to.

All things witty shyly crawled away from her head.

When his gaze dropped, rage bubbled up on her insides when the sides of his full lips curved to form to smirk. His cold eyes met hers before he calmly rumbled, "Will you move or what?"

His smooth deep voice sounded like drumroll to her ears, so masculine, so smooth. As he spoke, she couldn't help but concentrate more on how his lips simultaneously opened and closed. The way in which he said those innocent words made it sound too sinful. He had an impossible straight set of teeth, so white that she wondered if those were his natural set.

Snap outta it...bluidy Rav!

What other ways to knock back senses into her head?

When some senses finally made their way back into her head, what was he saying? There was already enough room for him to pass.

"Huh?" She asked.

"M-o-v-e." He stressed, flickering his fingers at her.

"What?"

"I have to get to the Laundry room and you're leaning against the door to it."

Embarrassingly, his towering height...the stabbing gaze...the words he just spoke...his presence, was intimidating. It made her feel like a strayed rat in a cat's cage. She didn't want eaten in place for his burnt meal. She hated this feeling.

"Oh." That was all she said as she moved from the door.

No Hi's. No apologies. No nothing. Just...mooooove!

Imagine.

That was when she concluded that the mister a few feet away from her was a cocky jerk...the likes of those who felt mightier than thou.

She had to get home ASAP.

"U-uhm..." She cleared her throat, and followed him into the laundry room, "You rescued me."

He slouched low before the plug of the washing machine, loosening something.

No answer came from him.

She tried again, "Umm –thank you?"

He frowned and doesn't say a word.

She couldn't keep her mouth shut. Damn. "Where's my dress?" She asked.

He looked up from the socket and took in her appearance again. "It doesn't matter; the shirt looks better on you."

The mister also had severe issues. And holy, he must know little about fashion. Rob had gotten her the dress she wore yesterday two years ago as her twenty-first birthday present, among other outfits. She didn't want to sound rude so she informed him in an even voice. "Where's my skirt?"

He said over his shoulder without giving a care. "Ruined."

She shook her head in confusion. "What do you mean by that?"

"Poole ate it."

"Whaaat? Who's Poole?"

"My dog."