Michael listened to her speak, thankful to all the pagan gods and whomever else he was expected to worship, that the issue at hand (not the one in his hands mind) was slowly resolving and returning to itself. She just had to keep talking about nothing, and he just had not not focus on her lips, or how soft they looked. How soft they had felt and... well shit.
"You like hats?" There, another safe topic. Maybe even one she would continue to speak about. If she did, then he wouldn't be thinking about what she was wearing, or... well Jesus Christ. He was just a boy, wasn't he? Wasn't he allowed to have these kind of thoughts?
Probably not. But he wanted to any way.
"And... I didn't know Ben Folds was considered Classic Rock already. What does that make Bruce Springsteen? Classical Rock?" Don't touch his Bruce Bridget. Just don't.