Page 38 of Contingently Yours
When he straightens up, I give my head a shake and move toward the picnic table next to him, tossing my things down to make my presence known. That gets his attention.
Frowning, he covers his junk with his hands and glances down at my change of clothes and towel, then back to me. Gracing him with my most pleasant and innocent boyfriend look, I slowly peel my sweaty tank top over my head.
That’s right, big fella. You like what you see, don’t you?
When his gaze returns top side, I watch him try to snuff out the spark of lust kindling in his eyes.
Swallowing, his lower lip pouts for a second. “Can I have some privacy?”
Really? How can a person ogle their incredibly irresistible boyfriend’s chest and then ask for privacy? Sighing, I trail my hand slowly down between my pecs, watching the way his gaze follows.
“You weren’t saying that this morning.”
He tries to scowl at me, but it mostly looks like panic—panic that he knows he doesn’t lookscowlyat all.
“It’s not my fault you have a dick-grabbing problem,” he blusters.
“It’s not my fault you have a getting-hard-for-me problem.” Wriggling my brows, I dart a glance at his hands and add, “Or is it?”
His jaw drops, but then his mouth snaps shut. “Fuck you,” he mutters, spinning on his heels.
Kicking my shorts off my feet, I snicker, watching his meaty globes jiggle when he stomps up the two steps to the first shower bay. So angry. So in denial.
A commotion to my left pulls my attention away from the furry man-child. I tense for a second, seeing our merry trio filing down the path to the showers. It’s just like an outdoor locker room, though. What do I care if they see what God gave me?
“Ah, shit. Sorry. We thought we’d make less of a mess outside. Are we interrupting?” Mason asks.
Lucas looks like he wants to crawl in on himself, practically cowering with his shoulders hunkered forward, only flashing a brief glance over his shoulder. I should be a good boyfriend and put him at ease. That’s what a good boyfriend would do. Wouldn’t they?
Surveying the open stall on the other side of the waist-high partition, I grin. “No! Not at all. Go ahead. There’s one still open.”
“Nice,” Mason sighs. “I’m sweating my bollocks off. They’re sticking to my leg.”
Gross. TMI.
Walking toward Lucas’ stall like a man confident and proud of his nudity, my feet slap against the wooden planks of the steps. Lucas whips his head around, eyes going wide. Just asquickly, he looks back to the wooden shower wall when he catches sight of the Hepperlys disrobing behind me.
Shit. Maybe this is too much for him.
Sidling up behind him, the cool water from the reservoir tank rains down on my sweaty hair. I brush the droplets off my face and run my fingers through my locks, oddly fascinated with the way the water is trickling down Lucas’ rigid back.
“What are you doing?” he whispers over his shoulder.
And here we go.
“Showering. Pass the soap, will you, lover?”
Nostrils flaring, I can’t see any of the lust in his eyes anymore, just pure, unadulterated, hillbilly rage. That’s so impolite.
“It’s okay.” I smile. “I’ll get it.”
Leaning forward, I slap a hand on the wall over his shoulder and reach around his other side, effectively caging him in when my hand lands on the bar of soap he set on the wall mount. A gasp leaves his lips, lighting me up with joy.Therehe is…
Glancing to our right, he sneaks a peek at the Hepperlys, who I can hear stepping under the other showerhead just five feet away. His lips part and…is he fucking mouth-breathing right now? Because ofthem? Rude!
Moving my mouth to the side of his face, I murmur, “You like what you see? Shame. Shame. Gawking right in front of me.”
His shoulder rotates backward, bashing into the front of mine as he looks the other way. “Hurry up and get this over with,” he mutters.
