His chest was bare and his pectorals were toned, his stomach ripped. I mean, he was seriously ripped. Not like the six-pack my brother sported or any of the lads I’d seen swapping jerseys after Joey’s matches. His entire body was a solid mass of hard-core, chiseled muscle. I held my breath as I allowed my eyes to wander over him, absorbing the sight of rippled abs, sun-kissed golden skin, the dark trail of hair under his navel, and that amazing way he smelled. Like soap and grass and Johnny.
