And, much to my delight, it looks like Zach has decided to join him. He sits upright, sets his glass of rosé down on the ground next to his lounger, pulls his sunglasses off his shirt and, arching his back, tugs his polo up and over his head in one fell swoop before swiping it over his forehead like a towel and chucking it on the end of his lounger. Bloody hell. I only get a side view, sadly, but that’s enough to tell me that Rafe is not the only oldie who keeps himself in superior shape. The guy’s a knockout. In profile, his pecs are perfectly defined and just as bronzed as I figured they’d
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