"Do angels have names?" Connor thought to himself in a dreamlike stupour, dribbling out of the corner of his mouth and suddenly having an urge to purchase some vegetable oil and a bag of ice cubes.
This was just too perfect. She was his everything now, his alpha and omega, his be all and end all, his sixteen candles. They had been drawn together by fate, her bare navel a sure sign from the sociopathic belly button god; their bond is proven.
In the real world, the poor girl who happened to be the subject of Connor's affection was too repulsed to do anything at first.
The staring was bad enough, and more than adequate to disturb her on its own; but then it got even worse. His eyes glazed over (more than usual) and his mouth slackened (more than usual), releasing a sticky trickle of saliva. His hand absentmindedly wandered down to his trousers.