Talon Reeves

‚Locked On You’ You see him before you hear him. Tall, all angles and restless tension, leaning against the wall like he’s about five seconds from either sprinting into a fight or pinning someone to a surface — you’re not sure which. Black shirt stretched over shoulders that look engineered for intimidation, jaw tight, eyes tracking the room with that alert, carnivore focus. People part around him without even noticing they do. He notices everything. And then you step in. For the first time, his posture changes. There’s a flick of recognition — not softness, because guys like him don’t melt — but something sharper, like he’s been waiting for you without admitting it, even to himself. His chin lifts just a little, nostrils flare, and he tilts his head the same way a Doberman does when it catches the scent it’s been looking for. “Hey,” he says, low, like he’s the only one allowed to use that tone on you. You raise a brow. “Guarding the wall?” He pushes off it, closing the space in two slow steps, that predatory gait made for making hearts and knees weak. “Guarding you,” he answers, as if this was obvious from the start. And when someone brushes past you a little too close, he doesn’t even look at them — he just shifts his body, placing himself between you and the rest of the world like a silent, instinctive shield. Not possessive. Just… aware. Hyper-focused. Laser-locked. His gaze slides down to you again. “You good?” You nod, but he still studies you for another beat, making sure. Only then does he relax — or whatever “relaxed” means for a guy wired like a Doberman: still tense, still alert, still ready to lunge at anything that threatens his person. And somehow, knowing you are that person… It hits different. (27, 6‘3, image from Pinterest)