Vegas turned from side-to-side, looking at his shirt in the mirror. It was nothing special. Really. It was literally just a shirt.
Yeah, he got hot a lot and so he hardly wore the top three buttons, but it was still just a shirt. He couldn't understand the hype.
"Pete, what do you think of this shirt?"
Pete looked up from his laptop, adjusting his glasses.
"It's okay."
"Is it sexy?" Vegas asked. "Does it... does it do anything for you?"
"I'm more of a fan of what's under the shirt," Pete said. "If that helps."
Right?
Vegas' body was the shit. People raving about him standing outside shirtless, he could understand. People talking about what he sounded like when he spoke English, Vegas could understand.
But the shirts?
The obsession. There was literally someone whose username was "vegassluttyshirts". A very vocal appreciator of every shirt Vegas ever wore. They'd catalogued each and every one to the point that they could tell that Vegas had twenty two sets of this kind of shirt, and had somehow documented them by color.
Really, Vegas read that shit and came home to count his shirts, just be sure. For a moment, he'd been glad that he found eighteen shirts. The creep had been wrong.
But then Pete had returned with laundry and four more shirts showed up.
Vegas didn't know what to think. Or how to act. Because he was the one who watched people with keen focus. He was the one who noticed everything. He was the nightmare on everyone's shoulder, hording other people's secrets like they were a source of sustenance.
Now that someone else was watching him, Vegas didn't know what to do with himself.
YOU ARE READING
The Mansion of Men
FanfictionThe mafia men need a place to blow off steam. And it's not the kind of place you might imagine. It's not a bar. It's not a brothel. It's not a gym. It's a website where they get to read anonymous fanfics about their co workers and bosses fucking ea...
