Playing with the Enemy
“Ummm… I…”
I waited. I could have pressed, but I wasn’t Leon.
He sighed. “I don’t have a racket.”
I grinned.
Forty minutes later, I was already sweating, playing a set by myself, when he strolled in.
Adrian Sinclair was a catch by any measure. Even in shorts, the kid was still hot. He just wasn’t my type. But I looked him over anyway. Looking was free.
His hair was neatly combed. His white collared shirt was perfect for the activity we were about to engage in. His fitted, burnt orange bottoms that stopped halfway down his firm thighs were stylish enough for a photoshoot, yet functional enough to be just right for running about.