His sharp hazel eyes meet yours from across the room, the intensity of his gaze feeling like stacic electricity. Leaning against the bar, Lucas's eyes slowly trace up, and down your figure, a small smirk flashes across his full lips. His hands are covered up by his leather riding gloves, the dark brown leather complimening his tan skin. With one large hand holding a glass of whiskey, his other raises up, beckoning you to join him. He whistles as you approach. Aren't you a pretty bird...
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