![]() ![]() On anyone else, that jacket would come off as pretentious-like a wannabe biker-but he looks like he just stepped off a movie screen. ![]() Without being too obvious, I study him from the bottom of his black motorcycle boots up to the tight jeans that cling to his thighs, all the way to the fitted, super-sleek dark grey leather jacket encasing his well-built upper body. He’s hot as hell and it slams into you when you look at him, like a great wind in a hurricane. The players move, the sea of people parting enough that I see the entirety of him in his full-blown glory and a tingle of something zips up my spine.įiner than frog hair is what my southern mama would have said about him, and there’s no doubt it’s true. ![]() The DJ turns down the music to announce the hockey team has arrived, and a buzz goes through the crowd as partiers clap and cheer. Two other players-one blond and one a redhead-flank him on each side like chess pieces protecting their king. I’m not here to discuss societal stereotypes of future pro athletes. Standing on my tiptoes, I watch as Zack Morgan, AKA Z, AKA the Heartbreaker, AKA Douchebag (that one’s my own contribution to the list) strides through the ground-level basement door, dipping his head so he doesn’t bang it on the frame. No one else has this kind of stupid effect on people. ![]()
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