Beast Inside

With his head bowed over his phone she can see the muzzle of the beast in his face. The shadow of his stubble narrows his face and sharpens his cheekbones. His nose points straight and she thinks fox. When he raises his eyes she thinks shark-predator.

Has anyone told him he has a small flat spot on the back of his hairdo? She wants to reach out and fluff his hair up, trail her fingers over his ears, tug on his plaid tie. She knows she is less than subtle. Silver band on his right ring finger and dry cleaning on his lap. It would be nice to date someone who understood what dry cleaning is. Ankles crossed, knees spread.

Eye contact equals immediate blush on her end. She should have put on her sunglasses. She hates getting caught staring, but being stared at does not bother her at all. She monitors his presence on the train with his shoes, unwilling to be caught looking at his face again.


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