#this.. is not good

           𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒 usual black demin for a pair of white ones, hunk low on his hips and in kieran halliday fashion, broad chest was on full display. his jeans and body is clean of any paint, people just starting to trickle in as he weaves through them in search of a very specific girl. there’s a bottle of jack that dangles from his fingertips like a key chain he can’t seem to part with and it matches well with the wicked grin that pulls onto his lips as he spots her in the sun room. digits pull a red paint marker from his back pocket and he taps it against the bottle, garnering her attention and others but he only gives her the satisfaction of receiving his complete and utter attention. blue orbs dart away from hers for only a beat, glancing down at his bare chest before they’re meeting hers again  ,  “  do the HONORS  ,   baby mancini  .  ”  it’s not a question as he bites down on the cap, the faint scent of paint filtering into his senses as he holds out the marker to her.