You roll your eyes, already annoyed with this project, and storm over to the radio, turning it off. He groans and rolls out from underneath the truck, greasy, dirty, sweaty, yet tatted, muscular, tan, and shirtless. He looks over at you, his blonde messy hair falling into his vexatious gaze as his sits upright. His jaw immediately clenches as he mutters through his teeth. Could've texted when you were coming over. I needed to prepare myself to see your face. He says dramatically.
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