Page 13 of Just Bromantically Invested

The thing is, if Penn’s lonely, I need to fix it. Does it hurt to know I’m not enough for him? Of course. It’s like a knife to my motherfucking heart, but it’s not about me. Nothing is when it comes to him.

“Yoga.” I slap him on the ass as he passes me to pull clothes out of the drawers. “Women love a flexible man and someone who cares about his health.”

“Don’t they love someone who’s genuine and not trying to get one up on them?” he grumbles.

“You’re not trying to trick her. You’re showing interest in Lana’s interest. It’s a big difference. And,” I can’t help adding, “it’s alsomyinterest, so it wouldn’t be a bad thing for you to make an effort anyway.”

The screwed-up I-hate-you-for-waking-me expression eases from his face. “Fine. You’ve got me.”

“Amazing. Get dressed. You can shower when we’re done.”

As much as I’d love to go home and do this in the back garden, by the time we drive there and Penn drives back, it doesn’t leave him with a whole lot of time to practice. So instead of finding my connectedness with nature, I’ll have to ground myself later and work with the space Penn has. I can’t think of anything worse than living in a tiny apartment, all boxed in by other tiny apartments, but Penn likes the simplicity. We’re so different in so many ways, but somehow, we work together.

“We’ll start light this morning. Help me move things aside in your living room, and we’ll do some warm-up stretches and get into it.”

The hesitance is back behind his eyes, but he does what I say anyway. There are a lot of misconceptions about yoga. It’s not for girls. It’s not all woo-woo thoughts and athleisure. One of the greatest things we can do for our bodies is to stretch out our muscles and strengthen our core, and yoga does both of those things. Maybe if I’d started this in college, I never would have ruined my knee from overwork.

We begin stretching, and Penn looks over at me in bemusement. “I’m going to have to look at your dick for this a whole lot more than I usually do.”

“Perve. Why are you looking at my dick at all?”

“Sort of hard not to when it’s always flapping in the breeze.”

I pat my cock, then stretch my arms up over my head. “Leave the poor guy alone. He’s not doing anything other than existing. Same as yours. You know, it’s fucking liberating to shed your clothes.”

“I still don’t get that.”

Not many people do. There are so many hang-ups about what people wear and when. Modesty culture has us all in a vise, but ever since doing away with that, I’m the most confident I’ve been in my life. Sure, my parents think I’m going through a stage that I need a shrink for, but there’s nothing imbalanced about this. I’m not sick; I’m embracing my life the way it was supposed to be lived.

“It’s too hard to explain. Most people don’t understand until they give it a try, and most people aren’t willing to even try it.”

Penn and I have skirted around the topic before, especially when I first ditched my clothes. It was a slow progression at first. Get used to being seen with no shirt on, then no shoes, then no pants … and now I’m more comfortable in my own skin than under layers of material.

There are people who think it’s creepy—hello, parents!—but most of the people in my life made it their business to understand and have supported me through the whole thing.

It helps being in Seattle too. I can walk down the street naked if I want to, but I’m not at that level yet, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get there.

“I think people are a lot more willing than you think,” Penn muses. “It’s more that they’re afraid to be labeled as weird. Or as creeps. Doing anything outside of what’s normal is hard for most people because drawing attention, well, it fucking sucks.”

“My little wallflower,” I tease.

Penn flips me off as he’s trying to reach his toes. I’m a fucking saint for how my gaze doesn’t linger on the way his muscles pull tight under his dark skin. “We’re not all as extroverted and good with people as you are. I have no idea how you can make everyone so comfortable around you so quickly.”

“That’s one of the things about always being naked: it helps you learn to stand up for yourself, and with nothing to hide behind, you have to rely on your personality for first impressions.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

He’s deep in thought, and I’m burning to ask the question I’ve always wanted to ask him. “Have you … Would you ever—you know—try it?”

“Being a nudist?” he asks, eyebrows inching higher in confusion.

“Yeah. I’m not saying do anything big, but little steps. If you ever wanted to, you could try it with me. You know it’s a safe space.”

His eyes are all warmth. “I know. And I love that you’re offering, but I’m not so sure it’s for me.”

“Fair enough. Just know the offer is always open.” And as much as I might love him, I’m not offering because I want to see his dick. Being a nudist isn’t sexual. Maybe for some, it is, but that part doesn’t make it into the equation for me. It’s all about how I feel, and the answer to that is fucking awesome. I really do think people should be comfortable and supported to try things in their lives and step out of their comfort zone. I got to have that.

I’d want it to be the same for Penn.

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