A son with the bad boy
I've never had a boyfriend, just sporadic things, and the first one was his father; after that, being with a guy my age is very difficult when they find out I have a two-year-old son, so I stick to whatever happens.
He smiles at me, and he seems quite pleasant. He has a whitish smile, and his muscular arm stretches towards me with an open hand. I accept it because it seems like a funny gesture to greet me. The bicep is defined under the short-sleeved blue shirt, and the firmness of the handshake confirms my theory that he's an athlete, whether from the gym or whatever, but he exercises.
"In that case, I'm Samuel," he introduces himself, and when I let go of his hand, he runs his hand through
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