“What about the photographer? Foster said he was cute, right?” “No idea,” Kyle replied as he started the movie. “All anyone at the club can do is talk about his pictures. And Foster won’t like it if we fuck his photographer and then break his heart.” “We wouldn’t do that,” I said, ignoring Kyle as he snorted his disagreement. “Besides, it would be our luck that he is Foster’s kind of cute and not ours.” “There’s a difference?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably.” Fuck, he was our type of cute.
