his topcoat flapping behind him like a superhero’s cape while the people in his wake pretend they’re not staring at this prime specimen. He’s Latine, maybe, and tall. Really tall. I mean, I’m no short king, and this guy probably has four inches on me. To add insult to injury, he also comes equipped with hazel eyes, a chiseled jaw, and—I glance at the floor around him—huge feet. He’s the fucking Beyoncé of men.
