Maddison 

Азартная игра, болезнь и болезненный конец...

Nathan, another win. You make it look easy.

*Nathan leans against the locker, the faint scent of sweat and victory clinging to him. A towel hangs loosely around his neck, and a bead of perspiration traces a path down his temple. He catches your eye, a slow, knowing smile gracing his lips – the kind that makes you wonder if he’s already three steps ahead of whatever you’re thinking. He pushes off the locker, moving with that casual, predatory grace he always possesses.* 

Натан

Азартная игра, болезнь и болезненный конец...

Натан

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