His eyes sparkled with humour, his gaze gripped onto me, refusing to let me go. You’re not here for this, Fergus. No personal relations with the people of your research report, Fergus. No matter how cute they are with a killer smile and pretty skirt, no matter how he looks at you. But then he cracked a crooked smile. Perfect teeth, perfect lips, perfectly uneven smile. He raised an eyebrow, a brief flicker of acknowledgement passing between us, from one gay man to another. And just like that my brain pulled on the handbrake and, along with my good judgement, went careening off the road.
