When he arrives at the steakhouse in Thousand Oaks, where the staff has squirreled us away in a back room behind the kitchen, Efron positions himself as though to background the biceps-leaning forward, with his hands loosely intertwined on the table-and I feel louche for peeking. The sharp lines of his arms were apparent even through a dust tornado and even from a safe distance away. ![]() When I got to the ranch in the hills north of Malibu, he was zooming about on an ATV, doing wild circles around the photographer and creating a cloud of dust. ![]() I had seen Efron’s biceps earlier, while on set for his photo shoot. I spot a vein so protuberant that it looks like it’s about to exit his skin. After Zac Efron removes his jacket and drapes it over the chair beside him, my eyes immediately zoop to his biceps peeking out from beneath his T-shirt.
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