“What an awful thing to say, and I thought men in black are supposed to protect people instead of harming 'em. I am but a delicate law-abiding citizen, after all.” When Ezra looked at Marco, delicate wasn’t the word that came to mind. Maybe upon first glance, but once those fierce eyes bore into you, that sharp tongue was let out of its cage there was no room for fragility. “Mmm, as you say.” Who was Ezra to pop his bubble though?.
Ezra’s eyes traced jaggedly in tow with Marco’s, his feet following along. He pulled out the chair for Marco, before sitting parallel to him. “You know, I’ve always been in great company with bodyguards;” This did catch Ezra up, our dear friend must know who he was then. So much for the article dying down. …“I’d have expected that I would be the one to run over you and start the conversation, but I digress.”
Ezra leaned back slightly, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the café window. He watched as Marco sipped his coffee, a glimmering in his own eyes. This man could be clever, no doubt about it. Ezra just hoped he wasn’t too rusty at this game. “You know, it’s funny you mention feeling bombarded,” Ezra continued. “In this line of work, I’m always surrounded by people, yet it’s ironic how lonely it can feel. My world revolves around protecting others, yet here I sit… unguarded.” He let the last word hang in the air, heavy with promise.
“Marco Manzo,” he repeated, an alliterative name. It sounded like some hero’s secret identity. He took the card with a graceful flick of his wrist, his fingers brushing against Marco’s as he accepted it. “Ezra May, although, I believe you knew that already.” he rumbled, tracking the subtle way Mr. Manzo eyes surveyed him. Ezra didn’t mind one bit.
“Apparently, my presence alone gives a magnet to men who don’t quite understand fashion and style so well.” Ezra chuckled, finding it humorous the way Marco lead with a compliment only to back track. “But I guess I am satisfied that I’m gifted by a man as gallant as you are. It makes me want a bratwurst real bad. Do you think they serve lunch here?”
Ezra raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a playful smile. “A bratwurst?” he echoed, feigning deep contemplation as he leaned back in his chair, eyeing Marco with mock seriousness. “The best this place can offer you is a croissant. But you know what they say about a man with great taste—he’s usually got an equally great appetite.” His blue eyes challenging Marco. “I’m always on board for some gourmet sausages, even if they might clash with my carefully curated…ensemble.” Ezra’s gaze flickered to Marco’s outfit, making a point of keeping it light yet subtly perceptive.
@cordyx | Marco | I think my mind is in the gutter 