Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FIONA
We’re all bundled up and sitting on a log in front of the campfire as night falls. It crackles merrily, sparks and puffs of smoke rising into the inky sky. It’s no longer snowing, and the air is crisp with cold and the scent of pine.
We’ve just finished our hot dogs, and I’m eyeing the two liquor bottles and cans of beer nestled in the snowbank.
Seb glances at me. “Go ahead.”
I smile and grab the vodka, adding it to my cup of Coke. “Okay.” I clap my hands. “Let’s play a game.”
Brantley grins, pulling his blue toque lower over his hears. “Monopoly?”
“No way,” Seb interrupts. “I hate that game.”
“Strip Monopoly?”
“You’re an idiot.”
I giggle at them. “Never Have I Ever.”
“That’s even worse!” Seb protests. “We’re not teenagers.”
I give him an evil smirk. “It’s a good way to get to know each other.”
“It’s a good way to get drunk,” Seb mutters.
“Only if you lose,” B says with a grin.
Seb glares back.
I ignore them and grab a beer, handing it to Brantley, who takes it with a nod. “What’re you drinking, Seb?” I ask.
He holds up his cup. “Bourbon. Technically, I’ve actually been drinking for the last hour.”
“Straight?”
He gives me a tight smile, and I shrug. “Oookay.” I settle into the lawn chair across the fire from the guys. “I’ll go first.”
The game starts out innocently enough: Never have I ever been arrested. Never have I ever gone skinny dipping.
I think we’re all afraid to really ask meaningful questions.
Then the alcohol starts to warm my limbs.
Never have I ever had a threesome. Never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex. Obviously, I drink on the last one—everyone knows I was with Anna—but so does B.
Seb and I look at him in surprise.
“Care to elaborate on that one?” I ask, grinning widely.
Brantley stares up at the sky and takes a deep breath, wetting his lips. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this conversation.”
“You don’t have to—” I start.
“No, it’s okay,” he says. His eyes soften. “It’s kind of a sad story though.” He glances at Seb, who smiles and takes a swig of his drink.
“You’re safe with us, Stitch.”
B raises his eyebrows. “Am I? I thought you hated me, Bastian.”
Sebastian shifts uncomfortably on the log, his gaze cutting my way. In the dancing firelight, his eyes blaze like blue fire, and it stirs something warm between my legs. “I don’t hate you,” he says hesitantly, looking back at B. “I just…”
“Punched me in the face for the fun of it?” B’s eyes flare with resentment, and I pause with my drink halfway to my mouth.
Seb swallows, angling his knees toward Brantley. “I shouldn’t have done that, but it’s not like you didn’t deserve it.”
B blinks moisture from his eyes and looks away, frowning. “And I’ve apologized for it so many times.”
“Michaels, I’m sorry.” Sebastian reaches out and places a tentative hand on B’s knee.
B and I stare at him like he’s grown two heads.
“Are you guys okay?” I mutter. “Brantley’s grumpy and Seb’s getting all soft. It’s like Freaky Friday over here.”
They glare at me.
“You’ve grown on me, okay?” Seb says quickly. “And if you want to tell us something personal, you’re safe.”
B studies him and nods slowly, taking a long sip of his beer. “My first kiss was with a boy.” His eyes lose their focus as he talks, like he’s reliving the memory. “My best friend, Aiden. He smelled like honey, and his lips were so soft.”
“That’s sweet, B,” I say. “Did you guys date?”
He swallows heavily. “No, but I wanted to. But my dad…” He clears his throat. “My dad is very conservative. If he caught us, he would have hurt Aiden. I’m sure of it.”
“Does that mean you’re…” Seb starts.
“I’m bi,” B says, his voice wavering. “But I’ve never actually told anyone that. My dad always suspected though, and he said I would ruin my career if I came out as queer. But I guess I did that anyway when I took a puck to the throat. Ruined my career, I mean.”
My eyes fill with tears. “I’m so sorry, B. You never told me about your dad. If you had when we were together…”
“I couldn’t back then. I hate who I was. My dad controlled every aspect of my life. How I felt about you wasn’t enough. But I was wrong.”
Seb goes to stand. “ I can leave you two alone.”
“No!” we both shout, and Seb freezes.
B grabs his hand and pulls him back to the log.
Sebastian’s brows crash together in confusion, and I empathize with him.
Something about the way B clutches Seb’s fingers before he lets go sends electric pulses through my body.
I wipe my eyes and sniff. I don’t understand the pull I feel toward them, but when I think about the guys, it’s like I’m being torn in half from the inside out.
We sit in awkward silence, dropping our eyes to the fire. Seb gets up and throws on another log, and sparks burst into the night air. When he sits back down, B nudges him with his boot.
“Truth or dare?” B asks.
Seb looks at him. “Are we switching games?”
B stares at him intently. “Well?”
Seb sighs. “Truth, I guess.”
“How many people have you slept with?”
“Literally or…”
“Wow, okay. How many people have you had intercourse with?”
Seb purses his lips, glancing at me. His cheeks flush.
“I won’t judge,” I say. “I’m at fifteen, I think?” I tap my chin. “Wait, do we count oral as sex?”
“No,” B says. “That’s why I said intercourse. And I didn’t ask you, Fiona Flowers. I asked Bastian.”
“I want another question. Don’t I get, like, a free pass or something?”
Brantley’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “That’s the question you pass on?”
Seb grimaces.
“Were you the campus slut?” B asks, elbowing him in the ribs with a wink.
The blush on Sebastian’s cheeks deepens, but Brantley seems oblivious.
“B, Seb never went to college. He’s a genius chef, remember?”
“Oh right. Well, still, there must’ve been some girls—”
“One, okay?” Seb says. B and I stare at him then at each other in disbelief. “What? Why are you guys looking at each other like that? Is one worse than fifteen?”
“Well, no, Seb. Of course not,” I start. “It’s just, well…you’re a smokeshow.”
His brows crinkle beneath the mop of dark hair on his forehead.
“You’re hot as fuck, dude,” Brantley says, using his beer to point. Some of the liquid sloshes into the snow. “Have you seen yourself?”
“I’m what?”
I giggle at the same time B gives a throaty laugh. I stand and walk over to the log, sitting down next to Seb. He watches me warily, and I give him a warm smile before I run my fingers along his jaw, up his cheek, and across his eyebrows, pushing his hair to the side.
“You don’t see yourself, do you?”
His breath hitches, and his gaze bounces between my eyes and lips. He just shakes his head, his eyes watering. He blinks furiously and looks away.
“How do you do that?” he rasps.
“Do what?” I ask softly.
“Make me feel everything all at once. Sometimes when I’m with you, I’m just pure chaos. Like I might combust.”
B makes a sound in his throat, and I look over at him.
“You’re the most overwhelming person I’ve ever met,” Seb says.
B’s nodding, his eyes bright, and I frown because they both look so damn lovestruck.
My fucking heart.
I drop my hand to my lap. Emotions that I’m not ready to face creep up my throat, ready to choke me. I need to ease this tension.
“Truth or dare?” I blurt at B.
“Dare.”
I grin and grab the tape deck from a nearby stump. “I dare you to sing and strip to whatever song is on the radio. Until you’re completely naked.”
Brantley’s eyes widen. “You do realize it’s winter, right?”
“Gosh, B, I hadn’t noticed.”
He shoots me a glare. “Okay, fine. But remember the episode of Seinfeld where George gets caught changing after he gets out of the pool?”
Sebastian snickers.
“I’m just saying,” B continues, lowering his voice. “There might be, you know, shrinkage.”
I lean over Seb, placing my hands on Brantley’s thighs. “We won’t judge you, babe. Just give us a good show.”
B flushes and nods, and I lean back and flick the radio knob on. The twang of Kenny Chesney’s “She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy” assaults our ears, and I burst out laughing.
Brantley smirks and stands.
The tune is just starting, and as it ramps up, Brantley sways his hips.
He seems self-conscious at first, his movements stiff and forced.
Seb puts a hand over his mouth, stifling a laugh.
I smell citrus and whisky, and it mingles with the wild forest smells, propelling heat along my spine and straight to my pussy.
But that could also be the alcohol.
B’s movements become more languid as he tosses his coat and hat into the darkness.
He prances around the fire, bobbing his head to the beat like he’s performing some sort of fucked-up redneck ritual.
When he gets closer to us, he tears off his flannel shirt, followed quickly by this gray undershirt.
My breath hitches as I stare at Brantley Michaels. His nipples are rock hard, and the dancing firelight casts angular shadows across his bare torso, highlighting the hard ridges of his abs. Next to me, I hear Sebastian’s breaths quicken, but I can’t take my eyes off B.
B pinches his own nipple, and I swear I feel an answering throb in my clit.
Then he slides his hands down his body, tracing the lines of his muscles.
I swallow hard when he reaches his jeans.
He pops the button free with a flick of his thumb and pulls down the zipper, the outline of his semi-hard cock obvious against the material of his boxers.
His fingers dip into his underwear, and he fists himself with a smirk.
“Fuck,” I hear Seb mutter.