Joel Russo's expression instantly darkened.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Jackson Russo chuckled, "You're already here. Why bother pretending?"
Joel pressed his lips together, hesitated for a moment, then unfastened his bathrobe, stepped into the hot spring, and sat down next to Jackson.
Compared to Jackson, Joel's complexion was notably lighter—an impeccably clean and healthy sort of pale.
His chest was muscular, sinews sharply defined. With every movement, his muscles would contract and stretch in powerful, sensual arcs.
The droplets of water clinging to his skin, pooling together and sliding down, carried an inexplicable allure.
Jackson handed him a glass of red wine, and casually downed his own in one gulp.
"Do you know what Grandpa's been thinking about?"
Joel took a sip of the Bordeaux.
"No idea," he replied, swirling the wine in his glass. Then, he added, "Just focus on the first possibility. Handle your own affairs; the rest isn't your concern."
