Page 8 of Close Quarters

“You know, there’s a whole delivery system in place at the ‘shop’ they have here. I mean, they check what you’re ordering to make sure it’s within the rules, and I guess jockstraps are,” he said with a shrug, taking his clean jeans toward the fence line just outside the barn. There were a few open-air stalls there, each fixed with a shower head in case…well, you ended up covered in shit.

“And that’s what you ordered with your limited budget?” I asked with a shake of my head.

Admittedly, money was only limited because the ranch had its own program for that as well. Sure, much like prison, they gave us a limited wage while ensuring we put in plenty of work, but it was different. For one, it wasn’t as small as we’d have earned behind bars, and a certain percentage was put into a separate account for us. Apparently, if we made it through the program, whatever was in that account was given to us. If we managed to fuck up royally and fail out back to prison, it was donated to outreach programs or something, probably for kids to make sure they didn’t end up like us.

“Look, with all the moving, lifting, and running we do,” he said, stepping out of sight as I finished what I was doing and grabbed a towel. It wouldn’t exactly hurt me to get the flecks of shit washed off, and eventually, my nose blindness was going to wear off. “These things are insanely comfortable.”

“You just like having your ass hang out,” I grumbled, only to find he’d stepped into one of the stalls, his underwear dangling over the door. With him busy, I stepped into the furthest stall and began undressing. As awkward as the whole thing felt, I wouldn’t wash in my underwear like some bashful kid.

“I wear jeans most of the time, Reno,” he said with a laugh, and I heard water running. “Which means my ass is covered but only by a layer of denim instead of denim and thick cotton. The amount of sweating that I don’t do is a lot. And! My boys are held nicely, so no sticking to my thighs.”

Lukewarm water ran from the tap as I turned it on, but even that felt better than standing in the blistering sun. The water in the cabins might be temperature-controlled, but they didn’t bother with anything like that for these showers. There was a bar of soap, but it looked like someone hadn’t bothered with shampoo, so the bar would have to do for both, it wasn’t like I was picky.

“What, no thigh chafing?” I asked as I rubbed vigorously at my hair to get every last flake of shit out.

“You know, it’s funny. When I first got here, I didn’t have to worry about that. But after being here for a bit, I think I might have to give up these fantastic straps for something with a bit more thigh coverage,” he said, almost sounding aggrieved.

“You poor thing. You’ll have to wear underwear like normal people.”

“Normal people wear jockstraps!”

“Jocks wear jockstraps. It’s in the name.”

He let out a laugh again, and I heard the creak of the stall door. “That’s only what they call them. But I wouldn’t exactly expect you to hang out with other people who do.”

I grabbed the towel after turning off the water, getting as dry as possible to pull on my clothes. “What other people?”

He snickered. “Gay guys have a thing for jockstraps.”

“Seriously?” I asked with a sigh, stepping out and rolling my eyes when I found him once again, standing around in his underwear. If it weren’t for the fact that he was easily the most oblivious moron on the planet, I’d believe he knew I was fighting a losing battle not to eye his ass. Why did the guy have to have a nice ass on top of a cute face and a toned body?

“Seriously,” he said, pulling up his pants and looking them over. “I think that’s mud…it’s mud, right?”

“We are not walking back with you in your fucking gay underwear.”

“You straight boys are so squeamish. If you’ve got a nice ass, which, fuck yeah, I’m getting one finally, then it’s a good thing to frame it.”

“Frame it?”

“Yeah, you know, like a gorgeous picture, a beautiful painting.”

“Your ass is…not one of those things.”

“Not one of those things yet,” he said with a wink. “Give me a few more months here, and I’m going to look better than if I’d devoted time to the gym. I would never have thought I’d praise manual labor, but here I am. Almost makes me wish I’d lived in the days when this sort of work was common.”

It did present a nice picture for the horniest of minds, but no way in hell was I going to admit that to him. I was going to pretend he hadn’t given me an impromptu strip show and try to rinse the entire memory from my mind. Then, when I took a real shower later and had a moment of privacy, I would think of just about anyone but him and jerk one out so the memory wasn’t tempted to tiptoe its way back.

Before I could reply, I turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Leon was making his way along the path toward us, stopping only for a moment before shaking his head and continuing. He glanced from me to Elliot. “Really?”

“Don’t fucking look at me, man,” I said. “I already told him he wasn’t walking back half nude. He’s the one who’s decided to linger in his underwear.”

“I was air-drying a bit!” Elliot complained. “This air is horrible for skin, do you know that? I’m starting to feel like a lizard.”

“Just use lotion like normal people,” I told him without looking.

“Do you get this weird when guys leave the shower in your cabin?” Elliot asked with a huff, but I could hear the rustle of fabric telling me he was finally putting some clothes on.

“They don’t feel the need to parade themselves around like they’re trying to show something off,” I said with a sigh, shooting a pleading gaze at Leon. To my horror, he looked like he was enjoying himself. Not because of Elliot’s underwear but because of my discomfort. Wasn’t he supposed to try to help me when I was uncomfortable?

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