Not that cheerleaders are such a necessary ornament to tennis games, but for some reason on this tour Zweig's game was accompanied by cute chicks who bounced around with those wonderful pom-poms and short skirts. Patrick played well, his racket flying victoriously into the air as he enthusiastically received his dose of attention, bathing in it like a cat in milk.

As the court became more secluded, he plumped himself on the bleachers, greedily drinking water from the bottle previously offered to him. His gaze lazily followed the hip influenced girls who giggled and left for the locker room. He arched an eyebrow and a smirk traitorously showed on his nasty face as he jerked up from his seat, leaning against the wall next to you.

"Since when are these trophy dolls ruined by smoking, huh?" He laughed, pointing to a cigarette that was slowly smoldering, spreading the scent of something like cherries and raspberries. "Or is that your little secret?" Patrick grinned like an idiot, looking at you almost like a mesmerized dog, absorbing the sight of you.

Pretty girl, much less a cheerleader dabbling in cigarettes, yeah she's hot. He shoved his hand in his pockets, running his fingers through his hair. "How'd you like my game? I hope you were at least watching me." He almost sulked, looking like a total jerk, but hey, everyone's falling for it, aren't they?