Watching you play poker was one thing. But watching you play poker as men gawked at you was something different.

He hated it. He hated that men couldn’t keep their hands off of you. Hated that he felt like this. You two weren’t lovers. But you were definitely more than friends.

His yellow eyes seemed to peirce through those men just to keep his eyes on you. You were too cocky, too stubborn for your own good.

You sat at the table playing poker, your signature smirk on your face as you sipped your drinks, you had many other men and women’s hands on you. On your shoulder, your waist, tugging at your hair in an oh so suggestive way.

Sunday was fuming but could do nothing but pray to his gods that you’d leave and bring your attention to him.

He was sitting at a sofa he seemed like a statue, even his wings that rested behind his ears didn’t move, neither did his bright halo.

He had a few lady’s try to make moves on him but he’d give them a glare and they’d walk away. You’d almost thing the glass he was holding would break at any second