Fairest Of Them All

When number fifteen did finally stroll into the premises, that poor guy inadvertently became the subject of a lot of gawking and staring as the rest of us collectively found a brand new thing to gawk and stare at. 

The small talk faded to quiet, the two or three kicking up snow trying to bury each other's feet quickly became a fine crowd of gentlemen, straight posture, head held high and all, as the entrance to the tent parted even wider open, ushering in the scampering sounds of winter boots at the plenty. 

"Good luck by the way," Leon whispered, leaning close by my left with his hand outstretched and waiting for mine. "May the best lover win." 

Should simply just ignore him, downplay, be disinclined. Encouragement was only just gonna intensify his competitive streak. And only a complete masochist would want to make things even harder for himself, wouldn't he?

Smiling, shrugging, I shook his hand.

Don't read into that one…