It’s watching him move that has me tilting my head. It’s the way his fingers curl into fists at his sides, the thumbs swiping over his index finger. It’s the way he walks that has my breath freezing in my lungs. The raw power he exudes, the way he holds himself like a king, commanding the thousands of people in that arena to acknowledge him, follow him. It’s the detailed black tattoos that swirl on his right arm that give him away. Heat suffuses my body. I may barely know the man, and I may have never watched wrestling before, but I identify him instantly. Recognition pounds me, and all the
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