Something - more like someone's hand laid on his shoulder. Mike internally yelped, jumping up slightly and turning around. Pence's eyes widened as he stared at the sight of 🍊✨beauty✨🍊 that lay in front of him.
Gorgeous narrowed eyes stared down into his fucking soul.
Blue orbs, as blue as the ocean, as blue as Elsa's ice she used to make her castle, as blue as a sunny blue day with no clouds littering the sky were looking at him.
The occasional flick of a few strands of blonde eyelashes that were barely visible when he'd blink.
Ah yes, the wonderful, groomed back fake plastic faux bleach blonde hair. The beauty of his toupée glittering hair could rival a cornstalk's.
The baked and wrinkled orange skin that looked like a tan-sprayed potato's: but to Michael everything was pretty about the orange man.
