30. Phoenix #2
“Are they right?” he asks, his eyes flitting to my lips.
Trying like hell to hold on to my last ounce of sanity, I reply, “Even if they are, it doesn’t matter.”
I walk away from him, grabbing my own swim trunks and head into my bathroom. But it’s impossible to miss the fire of victory dancing in Walker’s eyes. He’s playing to win and if there’s one thing I know about Walker DeVille, it’s that he rarely loses.
Knox takes us to our favorite cove. It’s three p.m. and the heat of the day is stifling. As soon as he drops the anchor, everyone wastes no time getting in the water.
As soon as Walker rips his t-shirt over his head, five pairs of eyes—including mine—snap to his beautiful physique. Everyone on this boat is ripped, but it’s the giant tattoo on Walker’s ribs that has their attention.
Everyone goes silent…except Hudson who blurts, “Hey, look, Phoe! He has your namesake tattooed on his side!”
Jake and Knox share a glance before Dylan follow suit and tugs his shirt over his head next, drawing eyes to his own tattoo as he bumps his fist against Walker’s. “Nice ink. I like the style.”
“Thanks, you too. Sick piece. What’s the rest of it look like?
” Walker nods towards Dylan’s thigh, but before Dylan can lift his trunks or pull the waistband down, Jake slaps a hand over Dylan’s shorts, keeping them in place.
I’m not sure if Dylan would have just exposed himself in an effort to let Walker see the rest of the tattoo, but I do think gay guys tend to be less insecure about whipping their dicks out than straight guys.
“I swear to God, you’re getting that part lasered off, Dyl.
” We all chuckle at Jake’s possessiveness, but Dylan’s body is a smoke show and his face matches, so I understand Jake’s reaction.
Truth be told, I’ve ogled Dylan a time or two myself.
I’ve also been caught a time or two, and based on the text conversation a little while ago, I’m pretty sure everyone in this group now suspects I’m not as straight as I let on.
Knox and Hudson have already grabbed floats and are in the water when my attention finally swings back to Walker, who is carefully pulling his wrist brace off.
“Hey, Knox?” he yells over the side of the boat. “Do you mind if I put this in the dry storage under the steering wheel?”
“Na, man. Stick it wherever you want.”
Behind me, Jake snickers. “That’s exactly what I told Dylan last night.”
“Damn right you did,” Dylan replies. “And how’d that turn out for you?”
“Exactly like I wanted it to,” Jake smirks before launching himself over the side of the boat in a dive.
The easy, heated exchange between them turns me on a little. Between the touches, kisses, and undoing Walker’s goddamn pants every five minutes, I’m so fucking horny I could combust.
Another splash pulls me out of their moment and I search wildly for Walker. Did that fucker just jump overboard with a broken wrist?
Rushing to look down at the water by the front of the boat, I see his head bobbing in the water.
“What the fuck was that?” I yell at him as he uses his left arm and his legs to stay afloat.
He whips his head to me. “What the fuck was what? ”
“Did you just jump in? Have you forgotten your wrist is currently broken?”
“I didn’t jump in, you psycho. I walked down the ladder.”
“It was Dylan who jumped in, Phoe. Calm down,” Knox barks from his lounger-style float.
There’s only one float of that kind, and obviously Walker should have it since he only has one good arm to swim with.
“Oh,” is all I say in response to losing my shit, thinking Walker put his injury at risk. But then I turn on Knox, everything pissing me off a little extra today. “Knox, swim to Walker and give him your float.”
“I will do no such thing,” Knox says, looking at me like I’ve lost my marbles.
“The fuck, man? It’s the only one he can relax on without having to use his arms to stay at the surface,” I fire back, suddenly ready to tear my friend from the fucking raft myself and haul Walker’s ass on it.
“Jesus, Phoenix, lay off,” Jake chides. “The guy rides broncos for a living, remember? I’m sure he can manage a one-armed swim stroke, and he seems to be doing just fine with the poo emoji inner tube.”
My friends are all fucking idiots.
“We’re grown ass men,” I grumble. “Why do we even have a poo emoji inner tube?”
“Because you’re a shithead,” Hudson yells before following it up with, “since you’re last on the boat, can you pour drinks?”
“Fine. I’ll pour for everyone except Knox’s selfish ass.”
Everyone calls out their orders, and while I’m pouring vodka and mixing it with various things, Jake’s voice rings out above the radio on the boat. “So…as a gay man who picks up on tension better than a Kardashian…are you guys going to tell us what’s going on between you two?”
“I’m not nearly drunk enough for that,” I admit through clenched teeth as I continue pouring.
Suddenly Knox is at my shoulder, shoving a bottle of Fireball in my face. “Here, start with this.”
“Where the hell did you come from?” I ask, flinching at Knox’s presence over my shoulder.
“The back ladder. I was coming to see what was going on with you… discreetly. But our resident billionaire had other plans.”
Mixing vodka and Fireball is a terrible idea.
Getting drunk on Fireball alone is an even worse idea, but in this moment, the hangover that surely awaits me is the last thing on my mind.
I uncap the bottle, not planning on telling anyone anything.
I just want to get drunk on something that doesn’t taste like rubbing alcohol… until Jake opens his mouth again.
“Well, Walker. What about you? Care to share?”
I send the deadliest gaze I can muster at Walker and shake my head. “Don’t you dare.”
The fucker smirks before winking at me and says, “Can someone pour Phoenix a couple more shots? He’s gonna need them.”