7. Xander #2
I glanced around the nicely decorated restaurant, done up in shades of blue and gray, to the bar and along the far wall.
Mason was leaning over the bar, up on his tiptoes, talking to the bartender, a handsome dark-skinned man.
My gaze landed on his ass. The shorts he had on were stretched tight across those two orbs.
My dick twitched. I hurried to pull down my Hawaiian shirt over the bulge.
“Yeah maybe,” I mumbled.
Mason joined us at our table, smiling and windblown, his cheeks pink from the sun. “The bartender, whose name is Malachi, will keep us set up with pink mojitos.”
Pink. Damn it. My mind raced back to Mason in those sinful trunks.
“I love those!” Renco announced with a rare smile.
Our goalie was always so… withdrawn. Tense.
As if he moved around under a perpetual fear of a piano falling on him.
It was nice to see him relaxing a bit. We feasted on tuna tartar, rock lobster, and spicy vegetables.
Key lime tartlets for dessert served with strong coffee.
And throughout the meal pink mojitos were flowing.
I didn’t even like pink mojitos, but I sucked them down just to please Mason.
Seemed I would do just about anything to please Mason which was bad.
Eli would hate me if I pleased Mason the way I wanted to please him.
Loving Mason would be so sweet, so sizzling hot, so wet and slick and—
“… had a fucking seagull in my face!” Dunny roared in glee, snapping me back to the table with a jolt.
“You should have been paying attention to the road and not that hot dude surfing,” Marquis tossed out around the straw of his mojito.
I looked around and came up one person short.
My gaze flew around the eatery until it landed on Mason back at the bar.
Up on his tiny toes, whispering to Malachi, he of the thick biceps and dreads.
Fuck. Were they flirting? I stood up like a shot, my only thought was bulling my way to the bar and slinging Mason over my shoulder in true Cro-Magnon style.
“You leaving?” Eli asked lazily, his blood full of white rum just like mine was.
“Yeah, I’m done.” I twisted around so as not to see Mason making eyes at Mr. Body Beautiful behind the bar. If kissing on him were a big negative then toting him out of this restaurant in a fireman carry was totally unacceptable. “I never fully recovered from the overindulgence on the plane.”
“Lightweight,” Eli said, blinked, and then snorted at himself. “Man, I had too many homitos.”
“That’s what Xan said,” Marquis hooted. Renco did a fine spit take of pink liquid all over the table. Dunny rolled out of his seat to the floor howling with laughter.
Yep, vacation with the Rebels was in full swing.
And to think I had dreams of two weeks of solitude and peaceful reflection all planned out.
Instead of leaving by myself so I could brood over Mason, we all decided to go at once.
Eli was easily seven sheets to the wind instead of the customary three.
The only good thing about everyone heading out at once was that Mason had to leave his hot bartender flirt behind. Not that I cared whom he flirted with.
Liar, liar, entire wardrobe on fire.
Fine, okay, I cared. A little. Because he was like a younger brother to me, and I didn’t want to see him get hurt by some summer romance.
Someone needs to get the pitchfork out because the bullshit is piling up fast.
My inner voice got really shady when he had a snootful of white gin it seemed.
We called for a car and of course when it showed up it was a freaking compact thing.
Which meant we had to cram five hockey players and Mason into the back seat.
Having Mason wiggle onto my lap was so not good.
I’d have much rather had Dunny on my thighs, or Marquis, or Renco.
Hell, even Eli. But no, Mason made sure his ass was on my lap.
I closed my eyes and let my head drop back, with Dunny’s sharp elbow in my side, and tried to block out the scent of Mason’s aftershave.
“Sit still,” I hissed at Mason when he would wriggle.
“Sorry,” he replied then commenced to wriggle.
My poor dick was like a fire poker inside my shorts.
He had to feel it pressed against his hip.
Was he trying to drive me insane? “This was fun. Tomorrow we’re going snorkeling then heading to this hip dance club.
The catamaran will be ready at the dock for us at nine so everyone be at the lobby by eight. ”
I groaned. Not at the early wake up time. I was always up early to run or workout. My moan was caused by the knowledge that I’d be on a fucking catamaran with Mason. Who would probably wear his pink flamingo little bitty bikini bottom.
“Don’t you like snorkeling?” Mason asked as the others talked animatedly about the trip tomorrow.
“I like it fine. Just fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m just sore from the ATV banging my ass.”
Mason leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. “I rather enjoy something banging my ass.”
I nearly came in my shorts. The drive to the hotel took four thousand years.
I’d never been so glad to shove my best friend at his brother and bolt to my room.
I was barely in the door when I had my cock free.
Shoulder blades pressed to the doorjamb, I fisted my dick and started jerking.
All it took was for me to dredge up one of a thousand mental images of Mason.
The one where he dropped to his knees to swallow my cock worked well.
Too well. I came like a Clydesdale, coating my hand, cum dripping off to the carpet, my lungs working like bellows.
When I could breathe normally, I glanced down at my hand then the spunk soaking into the rich carpeting. What a weak man I was. I’d do better putting distance between myself and Mason tomorrow now that I’d gotten off. There was plenty of space on a catamaran.
I was so fucking doomed.