sixty-eight. [Coffee Talk.]
The young man swears softly after a sweeping gesture of his hands results in hot coffee spilled down his shirtfront.
“You’re not burnt, are you?” his companion asks. Christopher shakes his head. He pulls his sweater off over his head and discards it unceremoniously on the floor, scowls at the coffee-stain spreading across his oxford shirt before removing that too. He is left pale and shivery in his undershirt.
MacNeil blushes because he can’t stop staring. He supposes that most soccer players must collect bruises during practice, but there is something disconcerting about the one at the hollow of Christophe’s throat.
“You’re not burnt, are you?” his companion asks. Christopher shakes his head. He pulls his sweater off over his head and discards it unceremoniously on the floor, scowls at the coffee-stain spreading across his oxford shirt before removing that too. He is left pale and shivery in his undershirt.
MacNeil blushes because he can’t stop staring. He supposes that most soccer players must collect bruises during practice, but there is something disconcerting about the one at the hollow of Christophe’s throat.