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Summary
“The fucking AC unit’s broken,” Frank sighs. “They keep saying the technician will be here any minute to fix it.”
“Look at you, gaffer,” Anthony says, smirking even though it’s not really good form to smirk at the gaffer. “Look at you lying there like a little slut, Mister Lampard.”
“I’m not a slut. I’m a good boy.”
The man’s sprawled out in his underwear with his stomach and the waistband seriously at war with one another and he’s calling himself a good boy.
He looks at Anthony and holds his arms out.
It’s hard to ignore the eyelashes.