“Damn, Rhys. You look like shit.” The burly defenseman turns to me, an eyebrow hitched. “Boy, Tuck, you know how to make a guy feel appreciated.” “Don’t get me wrong. You’re still sexy as hell. I mean, that bad boy aura you’ve got with the tattoos and the messy dark hair that falls over your eyes? If I were into guys, I’d be ripping that towel off your waist right now.” “I hate to eavesdrop,” Lane says, turning towards us from his locker. “But this is a strange conversation even for you, Tuck.”
