Gemotions

A vein throbbed in Michael’s temple. He saw the magazine cover on the newsstand, his article, his research, his painstakingly chosen words... all credited to the smooth-talking blowhard, Gary, who’d been trying to schmooze him for weeks. His jaw clenched, muscles bunching in his neck.

He snatched the magazine from the rack, crumpling the corner in his fist. He pictured Gary, probably preening and basking in the spotlight that was rightfully his. He imagined Gary’s smug, self-satisfied grin. That thought sent a wave of heat washing through him. He tossed the magazine into a nearby trash can, missing the shot by a mile.