By Nick Ensign
I should have recognized him for what he was the moment I laid eyes on him. But you know how it is when a man — any man who fits your ‘type’ perfectly — can knock the sense right out of you. I was at Starbucks, catching up on some emails and Facebook messages, when he walked in with a few of his friends. His hair was cut back into a short flattop, maybe the sexiest haircut a man can wear, and his moustache was thick, dark, but not overgrown.
His companions sported short haircuts as well but didn’t catch my eye in the same way. One had upper arms so thick they stretched the hems of his sleeves, but the man I was eying had only a normal physique — that is, strong and hard but not over- or under-sized anywhere.
I should have folded my laptop at that point because I could no longer concentrate on my writing. I tried, but every few seconds my eyes darted furtively back to the flattop-ped man. I could see him generally eying the other patrons as well, and once or twice we locked eyes briefly with me flicking past as soon as I could as if I were only looking casually about the room.
