Page 70 of From the Ashes
Hud, you’re also not getting on this boat.
Hudson:
And miss watching Phoenix’s reaction to Walker all afternoon? I don’t fucking think so.
Phoenix:
The fuck are you talking about?
Jake:
Dude, it’s so obvious you wanna blow him.
Been there, done that, I think to myself.
Phoenix:
You guys are fucking idiots. Keep your ridiculous opinions to yourself.
Hudson:
OooOo someone’s testy.
Phoenix:
I swear to God, Hudson, I will drown you.
Knox:
Will you girls shut the fuck up and get to the marina already? We’re losing daylight.
Pocketing my phone, I look up and realize Walker read the entire exchange.
“Are they right?” he asks, his eyes flitting to my lips.
Trying like hell to hold on to my last ounce of sanity, I reply, “Even if they are, it doesn’t matter.”
I walk away from him, grabbing my own swim trunks and head into my bathroom. But it’s impossible to miss the fire of victory dancing in Walker’s eyes. He’s playing to win and if there’s one thing I know about Walker DeVille, it’s that he rarely loses.
Knox takesus to our favorite cove. It’s three p.m. and the heat of the day is stifling. As soon as he drops the anchor, everyone wastes no time getting in the water.
As soon as Walker rips his t-shirt over his head, five pairs of eyes—including mine—snap to his beautiful physique. Everyone on this boat is ripped, but it’s the giant tattoo on Walker’s ribs that has their attention.
Everyone goes silent…except Hudson who blurts, “Hey, look, Phoe! He has your namesake tattooed on his side!”
Jake and Knox share a glance before Dylan follow suit and tugs his shirt over his head next, drawing eyes to his own tattoo as he bumps his fist against Walker’s. “Nice ink. I like the style.”
“Thanks, you too. Sick piece. What’s the rest of it look like?” Walker nods towards Dylan’s thigh, but before Dylan can lift his trunks or pull the waistband down, Jake slaps a hand over Dylan’s shorts, keeping them in place. I’m not sure if Dylan would have just exposed himself in an effort to let Walker see the rest of the tattoo, but I do think gay guys tend to be less insecure about whipping their dicks out than straight guys.
“I swear to God, you’re getting that part lasered off, Dyl.” We all chuckle at Jake’s possessiveness, but Dylan’s body is a smoke show and his face matches, so I understand Jake’s reaction. Truth be told, I’ve ogled Dylan a time or two myself. I’ve also been caught a time or two, and based on the text conversation a little while ago, I’m pretty sure everyone in this group now suspects I’m not as straight as I leton.
Knox and Hudson have already grabbed floats and are in the water when my attention finally swings back to Walker, who is carefully pulling his wrist brace off.
“Hey, Knox?” he yells over the side of the boat. “Do you mind if I put this in the dry storage under the steering wheel?”
“Na, man. Stick it wherever you want.”
Behind me, Jake snickers. “That’s exactly what I told Dylan last night.”
