Page 2 of Silver Fox Puck

Just a look—bold and unapologetic.

And I hate the way it gets to me.

He doesn’t look away.

And somehow—I can’t either

His hair?

Silver at the temples. Dark everywhere else.

Thick. Styled just enough to say he gives a damn—but not too much.

Silver Fox.

That’s the first thing that flashes through my mind.

The second?

I wonder what he tastes like.

There’s a calm about him.

A stillness.

Like chaos knows better than to touch him.

No posturing. No performance.

That’s what gets to me.

Because this man isn’t just magnetic—he’s still. Grounded. Like he belongs exactly where he is.

For someone like me—always in motion—that kind of presence is dangerous

Most people think being a flight attendant must be lonely.

The constant change. The endless cycle of packing and leaving.

But I crave it

The freedom. The weightlessness.

Because when nothing lasts, nothing can touch you deep enough to leave a scar.

I’ve spent years perfecting the art of movement.

Moving on.

Moving forward.

Moving before anything can touch me too deeply.

That truth used to hurt.

Not anymore.

But this man—

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