Page 23 of The Bro Pact
“I think you are,” I say sternly, not wanting to deal with him impaling himself on a skewer.
“Whatever, Kyle.” He plops back down in his chair. “Give me some buns.”
I place all four hot dogs in buns and hand the two nearly burnt ones over. Ren grabs them, piling on the ketchup, mustard, and relish.
I crinkle my nose and add a single stripe of mustard to mine before sprinkling chips on both of our plates.
We dig in, nearly inhaling our food in a drunken rush.
The Jack and Coke is really starting to kick in, and since Ren’s smaller than me, I know it’s hitting him harder.
When we’re done, I stack our plates, taking them to the trash can inside the RV and refilling our drinks while I’m there.
I step outside, carrying a red plastic cup in each hand, but as soon as my feet touch the ground I look up and freeze.
Ren’s dancing around the fire, and the way he’s moving is soexpressive.
Hypnotized, I take my seat in the stiff chair once again, setting our drinks on the tree-stump table next to me while I watch the show.
The music picks up, and Ren starts to leap around like he’s not completely drunk off his ass.
And I can’t stop watching him.
He’s captivating, and maybe it’s just the alcohol mixed with loneliness, but my dick starts to plump up. I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees, staring at him through the flickering flames.
The song changes and “Wildest Dreams” pours from the speakers.
“This is my jam!” Warren shouts, darting over to the back of the RV and climbing the ladder like he’s in a hurry.
Once he’s on the roof, he starts to spin around in circles, and my eyes nearly pop out of my head as he gets too close to the edge.
Fuck!
I jump out of my chair in alarm, quickly chasing after him and climbing to the roof.
He continues to dance under the stars, ignoring my presence as if I’m not even here at all.
“Careful, Ren,” I plead, holding my hands out in front of me, ready to grab him.
He’s getting too close.
Jesus Christ.
I’m too intoxicated to handle this right now.
We both are.
“I’m fiiine,” he insists, closing his eyes and spinning with no care as to whether he flies off or not.
“Ren, stop!” I yell, but he still doesn’t listen.
Enough is enough, so I reach out and grab his lean waist, squeezing firmly. “I said stop.Before you fall off and break your fucking legs.”
Fully aware that I’m manhandling him but not giving a single shit about it, I pull his body to mine, wrapping my arms around him before he gets himself hurt.
My heart is pounding fiercely. “What the fuck are you doing, Ren?”
He stares up at me, a glassy sheen to his half-lidded eyes. “Dancing like no one’s watching. What areyoudoing, Ky?” He says it so simply. So matter-of-fact.
