This is the frigging truth.
“He’s so hot,” my friend said, looking across the bar. And he really was.
He was tall, lean, with the strongly-defined features and three-day scruff that is near-mandatory for a EuroBro of his stature. He had olive skin and black hair and everything about him screamed “I just came back from a few days on the Mediterranean coast, where I belong.” When he talked, people listened. When he saw a girl he liked, he approached her with no hesitation. And in his perfect, near-blinding hotness, he became almost invisible. He was handsome, yes, but he knew that he was handsome, and his complacency radiated from every pore.
“Not my type,” I said, “But I see it.”
All my life, I’ve loved the guys you might call “nerdy.” I love a looker as much as anyone else, but the tall, lean frame and strong roman nose are meaningless if not packaged…
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