“You know,” he started, a condescending little smirk on his face. “I was never turned on by Winter growing up. Too pale. Too pure.” He bent over, swiping my cigarettes off the ground and pulled one out. He tossed the pack back to me, and I caught it, glaring at him as he bent down to the fire, lighting the end. “She was pretty, but I like my meat hot.” He blew out a stream of smoke, his gaze locked on the flames as he drifted off in thought for a moment. “Sexy with chocolate-colored hair and olive skin. Fat lips and dark eyes taunting me behind some seductive, librarian glasses.”
