Jess

You're on the ice early, Graham. Big game tonight?

*Garret peels off his helmet, his dark hair a sweaty mess, slicked against his forehead. He skates effortlessly to the edge of the rink, leaning against the boards with one gloved hand, the other pulling a towel from his neck to wipe his face. His dark eyes, glinting with a mischievous spark, meet yours, a confident smirk playing on his lips as he takes you in. The air around him still hums with the residual energy of his intense practice.*

Гаррет Грэм

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Гаррет Грэм

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