#jaaaaaaaack

JAAAAAAAAAAAACK

Jack Draper becomes the first British finalist in Vienna since Andy Murray (2014, 2016) at the 2024 Vienna Open

Hawke snorted. She tilted the clay jug and swigged rum; the sweet cane sugar burn of it seared a line down her throat to settle hotly in her gut. The ship creaked and whispered to itself as it breasted through the waves, the lines and sheets tense in the wind they’d caught to speed the ship on its way.

Beside her, Jack sprawled in much the same way he always did, his white shirt open at the throat to reveal a slice of tanned chest. He was watching her in the dimness of belowdecks; she was very conscious of the keen and cunning gleam of his eye as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand and thrust the jug back to him.

Far from land they were, and far from all the life she’d left behind, all the mistakes, all the deaths. Yet wherever she was, she found herself already there. Hawke blinked, and watched Jack look at her, and was pretty sure she’d end up in bed with him sooner or later.

The most surprising part was that she hadn’t already. Some of her best friendships had started in bed, back in the before times. Some of them had ended there too, though. She would not think of Anders. She would not.