Tom Gets Sporty Novels & Stories

I asked but there was no one around me to answer me so I had to continue watching to find out my answer. "Sweet mother of monkey milk, it is Bryan!" I blurted out. (Their conversation) "Hello Bryan, you have been working hard since morning have a drink," Tomo said. He took the drink, and after drinking he felt refreshed and asked, "what was that?" "It was so herbs, was it to your liking?" Tomo asked. "It was good, thank you," he said. "It is getting quite cold, want to go home," Tomo suggested. "I have to train in the cold so I can pass endurance tests better," Bryan said.

Tom winked before heading to the table with their drinks. Avery and Tom spent the rest of the afternoon talking about what they did during the last years. Tom graduated from high school in Paris and got recruited by a model company. He worked with a lot of brands, and now he was an ambassador for a famous brand in France. He also likes photography and wished he would be a professional photographer in the future.

As Julie spoke more on what the event was all about, Tom only shook his head with the guys releasing a mock laugh. “What the hell is that? What’s our business with a slam competition.” Said Dessy, one of the huge guys who also played for both the football and basketball team. Handing one of the fliers to Tom, she continued. “All the details are contained here. Hope to see you there.” Tom ignored and walked away, except for Sean who collected the flier from Julie’s stretched arm. “I’m Sean. What’s your name?” “I’m Julie.” “Okay sorry about the negative reaction. I think we’re a bit tired after the long sessions of vigorous training. Tom is a cool guy. I just think he’s under stress. Wrong tim

“Yeah. Plus, both their families had money, so they didn't have to struggle the way most teen parents do." "Wow," I breathed again. "Nineteen? That explains it, I guess. He doesn't look like he’s aged a day since then." "He’s obsessed with his health," Tessa said, rolling her eyes rather affectionately. "He’s very intentional about his vitamins, he hits the gym for two hours every single morning, and he eats like a professional athlete. I think he’s trying to live forever just to spite the aging process." "It’s working," I muttered, thinking about the way those Tommy Hilfiger briefs had clung to him.

"Do you want me to come with you?" "I want to watch you go down the waterslide." "Okay." Tom took off at a brisk pace up the stairs, following children and adults alike. When it was finally his turn, he pushed off hard and flew down the slide, flattening his body out so he would go even faster. He enjoyed the rush as he sped down the tube like a torpedo. After many twists and turns, and even one loop de loop, he flew out the slide so fast it felt like he skimmed the water before he sank down into it.

Or maybe I’d be a frigid bitch forever. Tom appeared around the corner wearing a tank top, a loose pair of shorts, and sneakers. He even had a basketball in his hands. His appearance startled me completely out of my train of thought. “Want to play?” he asked. I stared out the windows at the icy winter weather. “Did you get hit in the head too many times in all your mafia bullshit? It’s January,” I teased. He laughed. “Good thing we have an indoor court.” ***

Tommy panted, making me turn to him. "Nah, I mean..." I huffed, "I did ballet when I was younger, I guess that increased my stamina, but it's mostly..." I sighed in a chuckle, finally losing some breath, "sorry," I spoke in between. "It's mostly because my mom, dad, and older brother like to jog early in the morning to clear their minds." Tommy chuckled, "Impressive." "But are you trying to tell me you're an athlete?" "Finally you caught on!" Tommy jumped and continued on with a laugh. I joined in his giggles and asked, "What sport?"

"Christian Bowen get your ass up off that floor right now or so help me god I will stick my foot so far up your ass you will be eating my size tens for a month!" My head shoots up when I hear Tom's voice while my brothers all burst out laughing at Tom's SAS. He stomps towards me holding out his hand and as much as I want to ignore it I know I can't plus Tom is a man of his word and I for one don't fancy his size ten anywhere near my ass.

“I doubt it.” “Everyone,” Tom claims. “I’ll prove it.” Then he hops onto an upturned milk crate that’s resting beside one of the stalls, makes his hands into a trumpet, and shouts at the top of his voice. “Okay, Brits, prove me right! What’s your favourite football team?”

Tom supplies helpfully and this adds more colour to the seemingly hard core business man's face. &&&