Chapter 2
The cabin is a shoebox.
When Brody said “my uncle’s place,” I imagined something out of a magazine.
A log cabin with a stone fireplace, a bearskin rug, maybe a porch with rocking chairs, and a mounted deer head over the door.
What I’m looking at is a glorified garden shed with a corrugated metal roof and a single grimy window.
“This is it?” I say.
“What, you were expecting the Four Seasons?” Brody says, shouldering the crooked door open.
He walks in and drops his duffel bag on the single bed, which takes up half the room.
The other half is a small wooden table with two chairs and an old oil lantern on top.
“It’s a hunting cabin, Tate. For sleeping.
The rest of the outdoors is for everything else. ”
“It’s smaller than my dorm room.”
“But we’ve got the woods all to ourselves. No roommates, no RAs, no one banging on the walls.” He grabs my shoulder and shakes it. “Freedom, bro. That’s what we’re here for.”
I look at the bed. The single bed. Then at Brody and his shoulders, wide as a barn door.
There’s no way two grown men, especially one Brody’s size, are sleeping in that thing comfortably.
I hadn’t really thought about the sleeping arrangements.
I just assumed there’d be two beds. And after whatever the hell that was in the truck, the thought of being that close to him, of feeling the heat of his body next to mine all night, makes my stomach clench.
“Are we…?” I start, but trail off.
“What?” Brody says, unzipping his bag. “Are we what?”
“Both sleeping on that thing?” I gesture toward the bed.
“Yeah, dude. Unless you prefer the floor.” He pulls out a bottle of whiskey and two plastic cups. “Or the great outdoors. I hear the bears are very cuddly this time of year.”
“I just… I thought there’d be two beds. Or at least a couch.”
“Don’t tell me you’re worried about sharing a bed with me, Tate. We’ve shared beds forever. Sleepovers, scout camp…” His eyebrows knit together. “What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is, have you seen how much muscle you’ve packed on in the last year? You’re gonna roll over on me in your sleep and flatten me.”
“Then you’ll die a happy death,” he says, winking. He pours two generous shots of whiskey and hands me one. “Here. To our weekend of freedom.”
I knock it back. It burns all the way down. It numbs the edges of my anxiety, but doesn’t get rid of it.
“Wanna take a shower first?” he asks. “Three hours in that truck. I could use one.”
“There’s a shower? In here?” I look around.
“Bro, we don’t even have a toilet. What makes you think there’s a shower?” Brody pours himself another shot. “But there’s a lake.”
“A lake?”
“Freshwater, pristine, mountain-fed. Best part about this place. About a ten-minute walk from here.” He grins. “And before you ask why we didn’t pack swim trunks, it’s a back-to-nature kind of weekend.”
“You mean…?”
“Skinny dipping, my dude. Don’t make that face. It’s just us, Tate. No one for miles.”
Yeah. That’s kind of the problem. Just us. No one for miles. I’m starting to think this whole weekend of freedom was a huge mistake.
The trail to the lake is steep and overgrown. Tree roots snake across the path like veins, and more than once, I have to grab a branch to keep from eating dirt. But then the trees open up, and there it is.
A perfect circle of emerald water, ringed by pine-covered mountains. The sun hangs just above the opposite ridge, painting the surface in gold and orange. The only sounds are the wind through the trees and the distant call of a hawk.
“Told you,” Brody says from beside me. He’s already pulled his shirt over his head, and the low sun catches the sweat on his chest. “Better than a shower.” He kicks off his boots and socks.
I’ve seen Brody shirtless a hundred times.
The gym, the dorm, the pool. But here, with the sunset painting his skin, his words still echoing in my head—I want to spread them and lick your little asshole—there’s a new edge to it.
The sheer size of him. The corded muscles in his arms, the cobblestone abs, the V-line that disappears into his sweats. I look away.
“Well? Are you coming?” he asks, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his sweats.
“Wait, hold on,” I say, a little too fast. “You’re just… going in?”
“That’s generally how it works, yeah. You take off your clothes, you get in the water.”
“What about… leeches? Or snakes? How do you know the water is safe?” I’m grasping at straws. I know I am.
Brody laughs. “You worry too much, Tate. It’s a mountain lake.
Cleanest water you’ll ever find.” He hooks his thumbs into his waistband and shucks his sweats and boxer briefs in one smooth motion.
“Only snake out here is this one.” He grabs his big, floppy dick and swings it around.
Then he turns and dives in, disappearing beneath the surface with a clean, almost silent splash.
He’s under for just a moment, but I need every second of it.
My heart is hammering. I try to reason with myself.
This is Brody. My best friend. The guy who’s seen me with food poisoning, a black eye, and a terrible haircut.
The guy I’ve shared locker rooms with, changed in front of without thinking twice.
So what the fuck is happening? Why am I suddenly so aware of him?
Brody surfaces with a gasp, shaking the water from his hair. The water beads on his shoulders, tracing paths down his chest. “It’s perfect!” he yells. “Get your ass in here!”
I can’t chicken out. I’d never hear the end of it.
With a sigh that feels like it’s coming from my soul, I start stripping down.
I peel off my shirt, fold it, place it on a dry rock.
Kick off my shoes and socks. I’m stalling.
I know I’m stalling. Then I unbutton my jeans, slide them down my legs, and fold them too.
My boxers are the last line of defense. I look out at the water, at Brody treading in the middle of the lake.
The golden hour light makes him glow, dark hair plastered to his forehead. He looks like a goddamn demigod.
Before I can make any more excuses, I shove my boxers down, and my dick meets the warm evening air. Small and shriveled, nothing like the traitorous thing that perked up in the truck. Thank God for that.
I don’t dive like Brody. I wade in like a grandma at a public pool, one inch at a time, a constant stream of curses pouring out of me as the cold water creeps up my legs.
“Where’s the animal, Tate? Where’s the beast?”
“Hibernating,” I say through chattering teeth. The water is up to my waist now, and everything below is numb.
“Just dunk. One go. Rip the Band-Aid off.”
“I’m working up to it.”
“Just like you were working up to Rebecca?” He splashes water at me, a cold slap across my chest.
“You’re dead, Brody.”
“Gotta catch me first.” He grins and pushes off backward into deeper water. I take a deep breath and go for it, a graceless flop that sends a plume of water into the air.
It’s cold. But not as cold as I made it seem. Once I’m under, it’s actually… refreshing. I swim out to where he is, the water clear enough to see the rocky bottom.
“See?” Brody says when I surface. “Not so bad, right? All that drama for nothing.” He’s closer than I thought. His arm brushes against mine. Iron against my skin.
I shove him. Not hard, just enough to put some distance between us. “That’s for the splash.”
“Oh, you wanna go?” He lunges at me, gets an arm around my neck before I can react, and drags me under. I come up sputtering, clawing at his forearm, but it’s like trying to bend a pipe. He’s laughing, that booming, infectious laugh I’ve known half my life. It vibrates through my bones.
I try to wriggle free, but he’s got me locked in.
We’re a tangle of limbs in the water, wrestling like we used to at summer camp.
But this isn’t like back then. He’s so much bigger now, so much stronger, his body a furnace against my back.
My bare ass bumps against his thigh. My skin tingles everywhere we touch.
The slick texture of his skin, the coarse hair on his legs, the solid wall of his chest pressed against me.
And in the middle of it all, the wrestling, the thrashing, I feel it again. A twitch. A swell. A stubborn thickening where it absolutely should not be happening. The cold water is useless against it. The adrenaline is fueling it.
“Had enough?” he growls in my ear.
“Yes,” I squeak, my voice an octave too high. I slap the water. Surrender.
He lets go. I scramble away, breath coming in ragged gasps, and put a good ten feet of water between us.
I’m hard. Fully, undeniably hard, my erection straining toward the surface.
And the water out here is so fucking clear.
I half turn, trying to shield myself, one hand cupped over my dick under the water.
“It’s not a fair fight,” I say. “You’re on steroids.”
“Natural, baby. All natural.” He puffs out his chest. “The power of a clean diet and heavy deadlifts.”
“And good genetics.”
“You could have it too, if you actually committed.”
“Hey, I go to the gym with you,” I protest. “Occasionally.”
“No, you show up at the gym,” he says. “You watch me lift, do a few half-assed sets on the leg press, and then spend the rest of the time on your phone. You don’t push yourself. You don’t go for the burn.”
He’s not wrong. I hate the burn. I hate the shaky, nauseous feeling of pushing past my limit. Brody lives for it. He grimaces through every rep, veins popping on his neck and forehead, like he’s wrestling a demon.
“But hey,” he says. “You’re good enough just as you are, you know.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious. You’re a good-looking dude, Tate. Your face is money. You just need to own it. That’s what attracts women. Confidence.”
The compliment sits warm in my stomach, and I hate it. I want to stay annoyed at him, but I can’t. Not when he’s looking at me like that, with water dripping from his lashes.
“Thanks,” I manage, trying to keep my lower body angled away from him. “I guess.”
“See, that’s what I mean. A girl tells you you’re hot, you don’t say ‘I guess.’ You say…” He drops his voice again, that same low register from the truck. “You say, ‘I know. And you haven’t even seen the best parts yet.’”
“I have a hard time believing you actually say this shit out loud. I think you’re full of it.”
“It’s all in the delivery. And the eye contact.” He holds my gaze across the water. The setting sun catches in his eyes, turning them a honey brown.
Neither of us says anything. The only sounds are the lapping of the water against our skin, the rustling of the trees in the breeze.
Brody’s eyes bore into mine. His lips are slightly parted.
A drop of water runs from his hairline down his temple, along his jaw, and hangs there for a second before falling into the lake.
“I want to kiss you,” he says.
“W-what?” My heart stops.
“You heard me, Tate. I’m gonna kiss you now.”
He starts moving toward me through the water, slow, eyes locked on mine.
I can’t breathe. Can’t move. My whole body is warm and cold at the same time.
He’s three feet away. Two. I can count the water droplets on his collarbone.
I can feel the heat coming off him. My dick is a steel rod between my legs.
What the actual fuck is happening? His lips are so full, so soft, glistening with water.
He leans in. We’re about to kiss, we’re actually about to—
A massive wall of water hits me square in the face. I come up coughing, eyes stinging, and Brody is already swimming backward, cackling like a maniac.
“You should’ve seen your face, bro! That’s what I mean by eye contact and delivery. Total commitment. Sold it, didn’t I?”
He hauls himself out of the water and up onto the bank, and my traitorous cock gives another throb as I see him in the golden light, every muscle gleaming, water streaming off him.
His ass, two perfect globes, as he bends to grab his towel.
My whole body feels like it’s been plugged into an electrical socket.
I stay in the water, chest-deep, until I can trust my legs to hold me.
Until my dick finally, reluctantly, gives up the fight.
By the time I get out, Brody’s already fully dressed.
Tonight, I have to share a bed with this man.
The tiniest fucking bed I’ve ever seen.
And I have no idea how I’m going to survive it.