She’s overlooked crucial data.
He’s on his third beer and chugging it. A dribble escapes his mouth to reach his chin. He uses his sleeve to wipe his mouth. His biceps make her gasp. He gives her a lopsided grin, and brushes back a wave of glossy hair. He could model for a living and never touch a greasy wrench again.
A friend said they’d make a cute couple. But hers is a different world and he wouldn’t suit. For if he fits there, it means she doesn’t.
She sips at her wine. Takes a second look. Her knees feel weak.