Him (Him #1)(35)

I…think I might want to do it again. And how screwed up is that? I’d been fully prepared to view last night as a chemistry experiment. A test. I hadn’t expected to ace the damn thing.

The door suddenly swings open and Wes trudges inside, red-faced and breathing hard. He’s in running gear, the front of his sleeveless shirt drenched in sweat. He peels it off his muscular chest and throws it aside.

“It’s f*cking hot out there,” he mumbles without glancing my way.

Oh shit. He’s going to make it awkward. He can’t even look me in the eye.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I ask. “I would’ve come running with you.”

He shrugs. “Figured I’d let you sleep in.” He kicks off his shoes and socks, then strips out of his shorts.

Now he’s naked. And I’m even harder.

He’s still averting his gaze, so he has no idea I’m admiring his lean, sculpted muscles and the black ink winding around his heavy biceps. I realize this is the first time I’ve seen him naked in the light of day, and his skin gleams in the sunlight peeking through the curtains. He’s all muscle. All man.

And all those questions I’d asked myself last night—Am I really attracted to him? Would I like it if we hooked up? Am I totally crazy?—I know the answers to them now. Yes, yes, and maybe.

But I didn’t expect to wake up with more questions.

I slide out of bed and notice he’s making an even greater effort not to look at me now. Because…yep, I’m naked, too. We’d fallen asleep naked. In each other’s arms.

His back is to me as he stalks over to the dresser.

“Wes,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t react. He grabs a pair of blue gym shorts from the top drawer and tugs them up to his hips.

“Wes.”

His shoulders tense. Very slowly, he turns around, and his gray eyes focus on my face. There’s an unspoken question flickering there—what now?

Fuck if I know.

What I do know? I’m not equipped to have this conversation right now. Not until I’ve given it some thought and figured out what I want from this. From him.

So I put on a careless tone and ask, “What are we doing today?”

He’s silent for a beat. I can tell he expected me to go all chick on him and demand we talk about last night. I can also tell he’s relieved I decided to choose the dude route and ignore it.

His lips quirk slightly. “Well, we need to get some food in you and then hike over to the soccer field. The kids came back from the fishing hole already because nothing was biting except the mosquitoes. So Pat’s organizing a game.”

And just like that, we’re cool again. Sure, we’re pretending we didn’t blow the shit out of each other last night, but for now, I’m happy to pretend. I’m not ready to deal with this yet.

I wrinkle my forehead. “For the kids?”

“Nope, the coaches. But a bunch of the boys are already there taking bets on which team will win.”

“There are teams already?” How long had I been asleep?

Wes grins again. “Pat’s calling it boys versus men. Him and the older coaches against us young’uns.”

“Sweet.” I’m not a soccer enthusiast, but any sort of competition gets my adrenaline going.

“PS—losers have to perform a song for the campers in the dining hall tonight,” Wes says.

I narrow my eyes. “Which song?”

“Winners’ choice.” He snickers.

“Just out of curiosity—who came up with these stakes?”

My best friend blinks with the utmost innocence.

That’s what I thought.

“You know if we lose, Pat’s gonna make us sing Mariah Carey or some shit,” I grumble as I look for my shorts.

“Which is why we’re not going to lose,” he says cheerfully.



* * *



We stop at the bakery in town so I can grab a coffee and something to eat, and I scarf down two banana muffins as we head to the soccer field. It’s another gorgeous day and the tourists are out in droves, bustling down the sidewalk and filling the outdoor patios we pass on our way.

Two chicks stop in their tracks as Wes and I walk by. They’re in their early twenties, both blond, both incredibly attractive. One girl is wearing a top that’s cut so low her tits are practically hanging out of it, and a spark of heat ignites my groin. Shi-it. That rack is spectacular.

Wes winks at them and keeps walking. I match his strides, trying not to glance over my shoulder to see if the girls are watching us.

Okay, just one peek. I flick my chin back for a quick look, which causes one of the girls to nudge her friend.

Whoops.

“See something you like?” Wes asks.

I feel a slap of discomfort that wouldn’t have been there twenty-four hours ago. “Just thinking things over,” I mumble.

“I’ll bet.” His voice is low.

We don’t speak of it anymore, because I don’t need to involve Wes in my confusion. But I’m pretty sure that my dick is an equal-opportunity player. Because I love women. I love how soft they are and the way they smell and how they feel in my arms. I love f*cking them and going down on them, and I’m never faking it.

Last night, I wasn’t faking it, either. And now I have no idea what it all means.