Reckless. He was nothing more than that, a reckless bastard living between his professional life and the limitless life he used to have at night. Always living as if it were his last day in the world, he was never good at limiting himself.

If anyone tried to make him stop his extreme lifestyle, he'd just tell them not to worry and not to think. Live now, think later. He did it so well and, fuck, he wasn't about to stop.

Art was the best at what he did, without a doubt, he crushed anyone on the court and the fame was there, calling him, he just took advantage of what was given to him. Half selfish, half heartless. Who would stop him from living his fucking life?

Speeding tickets, excessive drinking, oh, he didn't even remember what he did last weekend. Every week a new hoe in his passenger seat, every night a new reason to regret the next morning, because it's not a good night if he doesn't take it too far.

Bribing the bouncer, hand in your back pocket, laughing in the backseat of his black car. Tonight, he was yours, even if the next night he was someone else's. Just pay attention to the tennis star next to you.

By God, he always said he wouldn't be like Patrick, but he became the perfect copy—doing the same thing he used to judge as a teenager, a hypocrite proud of his own hypocrisies.

Art wasn't really listening to you, he just wanted to enjoy that one night stand—because you were pretty as hell and he was into you, deep into you.

His right hand moved up your thigh, soft fingers tracing your skin while his left hand remained attached to the steering wheel. Driving around town, just to make you have some alone time with him.

“Where do you want to go? I'll take you wherever you want.” His voice was like a siren calling you, wanting to take you to the depths—that was exactly it, he wanted to take you to the depths, he was just disguising it with his good talk and pretty smile.

How could anyone deny him anything when he knew exactly what puppy dog face to make? A high-class manipulator.