The Actor's Contract
His sexy looks are not going to intimidate me this time.
He frowns, but instead of apologizing, he says, “I wonder what Brian’s up to then.”
And just like that, his mood lifts. Mine doesn’t.
“That’s it? No, sorry?” I demand, eyes locked on his.
And then — oh, sweet cosmic justice — he blushes. The stupid, gorgeous robot actually blushes.
“I’m sorry.” It’s soft, but genuine.
I glance out the window, half-expecting the apocalypse — snow in August, maybe — but the world remains stubbornly normal. The weather stays clear.
Bab Populer