The Bad Gentleman
To soften her heart, we settled on lunch this afternoon, because she refused to meet at a later time, and wanted to see me in person to ensure I’m just as fine as I claimed I am.
Too Many Nights by Metro Booming blares through the car speakers, and I raise my head from my phone, my fingers hovering over the unfinished message I’m typing to my hairdresser, to Victor, who’s tapping his fingers to the beat, nodding his head, and singing along. Off key, might I add.
“You know you can still enjoy your music without bursting my eardrums right?” I raise a brow, pursing my lips.
“You don’t know good music,” Victor spits, like the simple act of responding to me instead of singing along will take ten