Page 117 of Beneath the Burn

Wil flicked a blond coil out of his eyes. “A bet’s a bet.”

“A bet I didn’t make. Someone else can do the tat.”

Nathan rubbed his temples. “Can we focus on the point of this meeting?”

“You’re touching him.” Rio’s deep bass jerked every head in Charlee’s direction. “Fucking hands all over his fucking body.” His dark eyes were the size of cymbals and wrinkles formed on his bald head.

Charlee’s palm stilled on Jay’s bicep beneath his shirt sleeve. The other pressed against the sinews straining in his neck.

“No one touches Jay,” Rio rose. “No one ever touches Jay.”

Laz dropped his jaw. “You’re a fucking miracle.” He pointed to guys, grinning. “She’s cured him!”

In the next breath, Rio’s massive body plowed into them, knocking the chair backward and sprawling the three of them across the floor. Charlee rolled free of the grappling limbs.

Rio pinned Jay to the floor, straddling his hips, and arms hooked around him in a bear hug. She crawled toward Jay’s head to make sure he wasn’t lost in his memories.

His eyes were shut, his arms crossed over the other man’s back, and a smile tugged one side of his mouth. It was a pose that might’ve made a straight man blush. A man outside the intimate circle of the band, anyway.

Nathan hadn’t moved from his spot near the TV. Hands in his pockets, eyes on Tony’s stiff stance a few feet away. He seemed to be taking advantage of the diverted moment. He looked so content, Charlee hoped he had a lot more of those moments in his future.

Charlee climbed to her feet to watch the strange display of affection from afar. Laz and Wil jumped on Rio’s back, pulled him off and took his place. Wil grabbed Jay’s hands. Jay widened his eyes just as Laz’s fist caught him in the stomach.

Gasping, she jumped up to intervene, but Jay caught her gaze and shook his head. His smile convinced her to back off.

Rio pulled away from the twisting pile of bodies and approached her. “How’d you do it?”

The touching? She shouldn’t have been surprised by how affected they were by it—or lack of it. “He’s doing it. He’s fighting it.”

Without warning, Rio’s arms came around her, pinning her hands at her sides and lifting her from the floor. Oh shit. His lips landed on hers, slobbery and aggressive.

“Riooooo.”

At the sound of Jay’s distressed bellow, Rio released her and bent over, clutching his knees and roaring with laughter. “Dude, I kept my tongue to myself.” He stepped away, hands in the air, eyes twinkling. “Next time, I won’t be such a prude.”

Laz used the distraction to slap Jay’s face. His hand stayed there, holding his jaw. “I’ve wanted to do that for so damn long. And this…” He shoved Jay’s face away, rolled him over with Wil’s help, all three grunting with the effort to out-wrestle each other.

“Hold him.” Laz fought Jay’s arms while Wil put a knee in his back, pressing him to the floor.

What were they going to do? She looked at Rio in a silent plea to stop them, but he only stretched an arm in front of her to block her. Poor Jay was on his own.

Laz reached under Jay’s waistband and yanked his briefs.

Jay’s yelp accompanied the rip of cotton. “Sonofabitch. The one day I wear underwear—”

“That’s payback for giving me a wedgie in front of Cindy Hollis in ninth grade.” Laz grinned at Charlee as if her witnessing the performance was the true punishment.

Jay flopped to his back in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. All these years, they could never hit him, hug him, or seek childhood restitution. She could see now the barrier his triggers had put between him and his friends. Yet, they had somehow maintained a bond that ignored limitations.

“Jesus.” Nathan paced beside the wrestling match. “Can we have the touchy feely reunion another time?”

But they were too caught up. Jay was still laughing as the three of them rolled through the room, red-faced, throwing legs, ripping t-shirts, and slamming each other into the wall.

Charlee stood back, her fingers curled against her lips, her heart right there with them.

A high-pitched whistle pierced through the grunting and fist smacking. Faye stood on the leather ottoman, fingers between her teeth.

The guys broke apart and stared up at her, panting. She’d done this before.

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