Page 36 of Just Bromantically Invested

Penn pats the spot beside him on the couch. “Is it about Lana?”

Well, I’m not going to answer that, am I? Even though I don’t want this conversation to happen, I join him anyway. I’m too weak not to.

“Kind of?”

“What’s wrong?” Penn’s hand lands over mine, and the warmth of his skin soaking through mine hurts. I want to curlinto that warmth. To bury my nose into where his scent is the strongest.

“She’s not going to be okay with your gay best friend hanging around naked.” He tries to cut in, but I talk over him. “And I don’t only mean her. It’ll be the same for any girlfriend, and I wouldn’t blame them. I was just thinking … well, maybe I need to decide if it’s something I have the emotional energy for anymore.”

“You hate wearing clothes.”

“I hate being constantly questioned over it as well. I hate being made to feel like this fucking sideshow act because of it.”

Penn’s lips press flat, and irritation burns behind his dark brown eyes. “Have I ever made you feel that way?”

“Never.” Penn asked a lot of questions initially, but other than joking around and being concerned over safety at work, he never makes me feel like an idiot. “You’re—” I stop that train of thought before I can go on and on about how amazing I think he is.

“Why did you try it the first time?” he asks.

“W-what?”

“Why did you decide one day thathey, I’m gonna leave my clothes behind?”

I’m trying to work out if he’s taken a knock to the head. “You know why.”

“Humor me.”

The memory hasn’t faded. I’d been looking into wholistic medicines, superfoods, grounding, all things that keep your body and mind healthy ever since I fucked up my shot at baseball. It interests me, and in a world of being as busy as possible, being as online as possible, taking that step back to look after myself and slow down held a lot of appeal.

Then we took on a job outside of our usual clientele, and the conversations I had there opened my mind to things I’d never considered.

“We did a garden for that nudist resort an hour out of town, you remember?”

“I do.” Penn’s lips twitch. “Bit hard to forget your first nudist resort.”

He’s right about that. Maybe because of a different reason for me though. Yes, there’d been peens and tits and butts everywhere, but I didn’t see the body parts. I saw people who were happy and confident and living their truth.

“You were quiet the whole way home, remember?” he prompts.

“Yeah. I wanted to try it.”

“And when you did?”

“It felt good.” I shrug. “Obviously, the being naked physically felt good because I wasn’t all restricted, but it was deeper than that. This sense that all my vulnerability was being stripped away. That I was finally living the way I was supposed to be.”

“You said something about connectedness?”

I’m not sure why Penn is pulling all of this from me now, but with us turned toward each other, with his soft voice and the TV low in the background, the conversation is helping me relax again. Almost like he knew it’s what I needed. Us.

“Yeah. Sometimes I feel this string from my brain to my heart and then my gut. Like the three are all working in sync with each other and the environment around me.” With anyone other than Penn, I wouldn’t talk like this. I know it sounds like hippy nonsense, and maybe it is, but I’ve experienced that feeling, and it’s the best thing in the world. “It’s how I know I’m on the right path.”

“And that’s what you felt, isn’t it? That’s why you do this?”

I slowly nod as Penn’s hand reaches up. His fingertips brush my temple, run along my face, down my neck to my chest, where they pause for a fraction of a second before dipping lower. His fingertips graze my abs, and a jolt of arousal shootsto my dick. I work to keep it under control because the last, very last thing I need is to crack a hard-on while he’s touching me. His eyes don’t leave mine though.

“That’s why.” Penn’s voice has dropped to a whisper. “That’s why you do it. That’s why giving up would make you miserable. It’s not a gimmick, Madden. It’s who you are. And you know who you are more than anyone I know.”

His emotion-drenched tone is making my heart thump madly. I want to reach for him, desperately need to be touching him, somehow, somewhere, it doesn’t matter. Platonic contact is better than no contact, and this urge is stronger than when I’m horny over him. When he makes me feel, that’s when I need him more than ever.

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