James Nowak strips out of his rugby gear

James Nowak strips off his rugby jersey in broad daylight, muscles rippling as he tosses the damp fabric aside, sunglasses still perched on his face. His arms flex in sharp, deliberate poses, hands gripping his head, then resting behind it, while the city hums in the background. A water bottle clutched in one hand, he smirks, the sun catching the sweat on his chest. By the end, he’s bare, every inch of him on display.