Nestled within the mysterious gingerbread coffin that's longitude was in the general vicinity of his chest, where legend has it, there lay a reliquary of which may contain the shriveled husk of what used to be his blackened heart, Miles just couldn't bring himself to believe the word on the street, or even the whisper in the dark: Jane just couldn't be a cock blocker.
"My lover?" He'd hissed, though it was a chortle through his tightened teeth. It a puncture vine pulled out of bicycle tire. The exhale of a military push-up to a plank. "No, no, you heard it all wrong. Ra's a King Cobra I sold to a Gypsy King in Coney Island." Okay, so maybe the truth was a little less believable than the lie, but his expression was as genuine as a crying scene in a Shirley Temple movie. "For lots of money. Making me not just wealthy, but also single."
A pause.
"Available even."
Well, he couldn't turn back now. He liked social experiments. "Some might even say charming."