Tinder is a wonderful thing, actually. Patrick has had almost constant problems with finances, which has made it difficult to place him on the food chain as a good-looking tennis star. Let's turn a blind eye to the fact that he's far from a screen star anymore.

But living off rich people's bills, mumbling something to them about tennis and kissing them sweetly, was less disgusting to Patrick. Having stumbled upon you a few months ago, you seemed to have latched on to him, well, it wasn't overnight. You fed his cheeky ass only the best food from Michelin restaurants and bought all the nonsense. Not that he complained, on the contrary Zweig started making it to the grand slam tournaments far more often than he had before he charmed you.

The guy curled up in his chair, lazily looking over the magazines with him close-up. "ZWEG RETURNS?" was written on each of them. Lifting his head he heard the rattle of keys, great, you're just back from work: tired and in dire need. Grinning Patrick froze in the doorway, almost like a gentleman taking off your coat. Well, after all, he knows how to be grateful, sometimes.

"Rough day, dear?" He hissed almost mockingly, meeting something between fatigue and irritation on your adorable face. "I made dinner." Okay, he didn't cook, he just ordered delivery from the best restaurant in town. His hands gently went to your shoulders.