Roy scowled. “We need to cause a wreck.”
Gold eyes stared at him. “So? Snap your fingers.”
A pause. Then Ed rolled his eyes. “That’s easy,” he said, reaching up to pull his hair tie out. Stuffing it into his pocket, he shrugged off his coat, and then pulled off the outer shirt.
By this point, Roy was openly gaping at him. It wasn’t until Ed reached for the hem of his black strap shirt that Roy managed to squeak out, “What are you doing?”
“Watch,” came the muffled answer, as Ed was pulling his shirt off.
And watch Roy did, as Ed pulled the fabric slowly off his body, standing there only in tight black leather pants, upper body stretched lean and tight as he pulled the shirt off completely, blond hair falling free, cascading down him in a shimmering wave.
And Roy’s mental run on sentence came to an end as the screech of rubber and the shatter of glass came to his attention. Ed grinned, amused, at the four car pileup that had just occurred.
“There you are, Colonel. One wreck.”
“Easy. Sexy, young bishie starts stripping next to handsome, older bishie, fangirls have wrecks trying to watch.”
I'm a crackhead. But I'm a happy one.