Chapter 8 #2
I roll my eyes, gritting my teeth as I grind out, “Because you’ve wanted me to go along with that stupid book from the beginning, and I think I distinctly remember walking around in my boxer briefs as a part of your grand plan.”
“So, you admit the plan was grand?”
I stare at him, jaw locked, and when he sees I’m not playing, he leans closer, his voice low as he whispers, “Just think of how much hotter it’ll be when it’s Tatum’s turn and she’s dared to make out with you while you’re nude.”
“You’re deranged,” I grumble, pinching the bridge of my nose as I take a deep breath. “That’s creepy as fuck.”
“How?” he insists.
Lowering my hand, I glare at him as I say, “It’s bad enough my first kiss with her will be in front of her boyfriend and more than a dozen other people I don’t even know, let alone kissing her for the first fucking time naked.”
“Why not? Sure as hell sounds like a good idea to me,” he says with a smirk before it fades, and he winces. “Oh shit. Are you afraid you’ll get a boner?”
“No, I’m not fucking afraid I’ll get a boner, you moron!” I know I’ll get one, but that’s not the fucking point. “Did you ever think it might make her just a tad uncomfortable the whole damn time I’m kissing her if I’m butt-ass naked in front of a crowd?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Chris frowns, dragging a hand over his stubble-covered chin. “That could be a problem.”
“Ya think?” I huff.
“Okay, new plan.” Chris turns around and holds his hands up to the waiting crowd.
“We’re gonna keep it PG for the kiddos,” he announces.
“When we dared Brandon to undress, I wasn’t thinking about the anaconda he’s hiding in his pants.
And trust me, I’ve seen him in the locker room, you don’t want it to get loose. It’ll for sure scare the ladies.”
I cover my eyes with a hand and groan. What the actual fuck?
“He can keep the underwear on,” Chris continues, then slaps me on the back. “You’re welcome, buddy.”
I drop my hand to shoot him a glare but catch Tatum in my peripheral. Her gaze drops to my crotch, throat bobbing with her assessment before she slides her gaze back to my face, cheeks flaming from whatever thoughts are running through that pretty little head of hers.
And suddenly, I’m not so pissed at his plan.
I take a deep breath to cool my shit, then kick off my shoes and slide my jeans down with quick jerky movements, ignoring Chris’s hand motions signaling for me to slow it down like this is some kind of fucking striptease.
Inhaling, I comply, my movements slowing, only because I’m trying not to cross the firepit and choke our best running back. I reach for the back of my T-shirt, lifting it up and over my head in one swift movement, watching in satisfaction when several of the ladies around the fire gawk.
Years of busting my ass in the gym and on the football field have led to a body built for exactly this kind of reaction.
Broad shoulders taper into a sculpted chest, each muscle defined and hard-earned.
My abs flex as I toss the shirt aside. Thick arms, roped with veins and power, rest casually at my sides, and my back—wide and strong—still carries the weight of every brutal rep, every hit, every sprint.
I don’t need a mirror to know what they’re staring at. I’ve earned every damn glance.
But there’s only one I want.
Unable to help myself, I turn my eyes to Tate to gauge her reaction, thrilled when I find her eyes fixed on my torso, her lips slightly parted as her gaze slides to the V that disappears beneath the band of my boxer briefs.
The firelight dances across her face, highlighting the rosy flush spreading across her cheeks. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and something primal stirs in my chest.
I lower myself back down beside her, unable to hide my satisfied smirk.
Let Ethan see this—let him know exactly what he’s up against.
With a clenched jaw, Ethan pulls Tatum closer against him, murmuring something into her ear I can’t hear but causes her to stiffen in his arms and pull her gaze from me.
“Eyes up here, Tate,” I joke, trying to lighten whatever tension Ethan just created, whatever asshole thing I know he just said.
She forces a laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You wish, Lambert.”
You have no idea.
I want her to do a whole hell of a lot more than look. Friendship is no longer enough. I want everything. The whole package. And if that means playing the supportive best friend until she realizes Ethan isn’t the man for her, then so be it.
“Ethan, truth or dare?” I ask, without wasting any time.
“Truth,” he says, his arms still wrapped possessively around Tatum’s waist.
My brows rise, surprised he didn’t want to try and outdo my striptease with some macho dare.
But this? This is even better.
Something has been picking at me in the time since Tate told me she was thinking of transferring.
Michigan State is only an hour’s drive from Ann Arbor.
She and Ethan can easily see each other every week if they want to.
Hell, he’s close enough that they could hang out multiple times a week.
People commute further every single day for work.
Yet, he’s convincing her to transfer. Why?
More than that, the day I showed up at her place and she gave me the news, the small pieces of their phone call I picked up on, little bits of information she’s given me since I found out they were together, the way I think he shamed her just now; they all give me the impression he’s controlling.
“Do you actually trust Tatum when she’s hanging out with me alone?” I ask, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
The circle goes quiet. Someone whispers “damn” under their breath.
Tatum’s eyes widen as she shifts uncomfortably and Ethan’s fingers dig into her sides.
I watch his jaw work, and I can tell he’s weighing his options.
Tell the truth and look like an insecure asshole or lie and risk getting called out on it. Classic.
If their relationship is so fucking fabulous and they’re so in love, his answer should be easy.
“Of course I trust her,” he says finally, but his voice lacks conviction. “It’s other people I don’t trust.”
It’s such a cop-out answer, and I smirk and shake my head, pleased at the angry vein pulsing in his forehead.
“Truth or dare?” he asks without wasting any time.
“Me?” I point to my chest.
He nods, eyes narrowing.
“Nope.” Chris motions between us. “You can’t ask the asker. It’s against the rules. Pick someone else.”
“Since when are there fucking rules in Truth or Dare?” Ethan snaps at him.
Chris’s brows rise to his hairline while Jace laughs, and Damon coughs behind his hand saying, “Someone’s triggered.”
“Ethan . . .” Tatum glances up at him, her tone pleading as the flush I left on her cheeks earlier turns to embarrassment.
The muscles above his jaw tense and flicker under the weight of everyone’s stare.
For a moment, I think he’s going to explode, but instead, he forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Fine,” he says, peering down at her, his voice clipped.
“Tatum, let’s prove I have nothing to worry about. Truth or dare?”
She blinks, clearly caught off guard he picked her. “Um, truth, I guess?”
A slow, calculated smile spreads across his face. “Have you ever thought about Lambert as more than just a friend?”