STUPID PERFECT BLUE EYES.
Leslie really wanted to curse the genetics that created perfect blue eyes. Especially when those genetics just had to grace themselves upon the finely sculpted face of him. That stupid, arrogant neurosurgeon who thought that just because he operated on brains and was outrageously handsome that it was his God-given right to go around the hospital sleeping with literally everything that had a vagina and was ambulatory. Although, Leslie wouldn’t be surprised if he had made a few wheelchair-bound women blow him.
Stupid perfect blue eyes.
But he wasn’t the reason that she was sitting in this little bar, alone, nursing her third (Maybe? Or was it her fourth?) drink of the evening. No, he didn’t have the pleasure of making Leslie want to drink more than her typical glass of wine at social gatherings. That privilege (if one could call it that) belonged to her husband. Rather, her soon-to-be ex-husband. Perhaps this was what her friends had tried to warn her about when they said marrying a guy who was in law school was a bad idea.
Playing with the glass in her hand, listening to the melting ice cubes clink around in the glass, she didn’t notice another presence next to her until a voice interrupted her train of thought.
“Last time I checked, the point of alcohol is to drink it. Usually so you can forget your troubles or get naked with me in the on-call room, whichever you prefer.”
Oh great, him. But instead of her usual reaction of rolling her eyes and calling him a disgusting pervert who would never get into her pants, Leslie laughed. Clearly the alcohol had some sort of effect on her. “No, I’m just hoping to black out and possibly kill my ex,” she replied, turning her head to face Collin and those obnoxiously perfect blue eyes.
Stupid perfect blue eyes.
(Source: bobbi--morse)
- 1 year ago
