Page 27 of Just Bromantically Invested

“I’d believe that if you didn’t hit me with your car that one time.”

My mouth drops that he’d even bring that up. “That was an accident.”

“I do think that’s what they call car crashes, yes.”

“It wasn’t a crash.”

“But it was an accident.”

“I barely bumped you.” That asshole. We were nineteen and had been drinking in the woods on a weekend at college. Madden was standing in front of the car with some guy he liked, and I was making out in the front seat with my hookup. We knocked the handbrake button, and the car rolled forward enough to shove Madden off his feet.

He ended up with a bruised thigh that he didn’t let me hear the end of for weeks, until I confessed that I felt like complete shit over what happened—not to mention how I would have felt if it was any worse. The thought of losing Madden and it being because of something I did? God, that makes me sick.

“Still got the battle scars,” he sighs dramatically.

My gaze immediately flicks to his bare—scarless—thigh. “You’re going to make me feel bad again.”

“Just pointing out that you can’t claim being protective of me when you’ll voluntarily run over me with your car.”

I don’t bother answering. Madden’s in a playful mood, and I love it when he gets like this. He’s singing along to whatever the fuck this song is, and even though it hurts my ears, I lean over and turn it up.

He’s banging his head and pretending to play air guitar, completely living in the moment, and it’s like a pure burst of sunshine in my chest.

We pull up in the parking lot, and I wait for the song to end before switching off the engine. Then I take a deep breath and pull my shirt over my head. I’m trying not to think about being naked too deeply since it’s weirder to be fully clothed here than anything, but Madden’s right that I’ve been conditioned to think this way.

The thing is, I don’t really know any other way to think. I don’t know that I’dwantto think any other way.

I shed my shorts and underwear, trying not to let that unsettling anxiety take over.

The only reason I’m comfortable being naked here is because I have Madden with me, and he’s talked me through it.

We climb out of the car, and I grab the lunch pack I bought from that place Madden likes, he grabs my towel, and then we walk down into the park. It’s smaller than some of the other nudist beaches in Seattle, but it’s got good tree coverage, and the atmosphere is a lot more relaxed.

We find a free area on the grass, where Madden lays out our towels, and we sit down facing the water.

“Fuck, this is nice,” he says, stretching his long arms over his head. He’s more muscular than I am, and I miss the days of being built like him, but I don’t miss the endless workouts and training. “Don’t you feel that peace from being outside and uninhibited?”

“Mostly, I’m worried about an ant crawling into my ass crack.”

“Eh, that could happen even if you’re wearing clothes.”

“The odds are greatly reduced though.” I’m struggling not to laugh. I love that he has this new outlook on life that makeshim happy, but I don’t think the free-love, naked hippy thing is for me.

While Madden goes over the health benefits of letting your skin breathe, I pull out our sandwiches and hand Madden his. No matter what he’s talking about, I like listening to his voice. It’s deep and smooth, rich with life, and I let it flow over me as I reach over and tug the pickles from his sandwich.

Madden replaces his pickles with my tomato, and we eat in silence, shoulder to shoulder, watching the soft waves bob on the water.

“You know,” Madden says, “I might have glimpsed some of your date with Lana yesterday.”

“Do we have to talk about her?”

“Of course not. I just wanted to say it looked like you were having fun.”

“We were.”

“Right.” He’s trying to smile, but his eyebrows aren’t cooperating. “And I want that.”

“Then why do you sound like you’re chewing glass?”

---