Page 55 of Shaw

“How’s Thirsty Thursday going?” Mase smirks, aiming his question toward Tate.

Shaw freezes behind me, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at his reaction.

“What’s Thirsty Thursday?” I ask.

Tate drops his beer to the floor before cussing and using a dozen napkins to mop up the mess.

I tilt my head up to Shaw’s face. His eyes have narrowed on Mase, and he grinds his jaw so loud I can hear his teeth.

“What’s Thirsty Thursday?” I repeat.

“Yeah, Shaw. Care to explain?” Mase crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrows in jest.

Reed sits back in the only armchair in the room with a calculating smile on his face, as if enjoying the exchange.

Shaw clears his throat. “It’s a dare that dipshit over there got us all doing.” He throws his arm out toward Tate.

“Yeah, well, I’m the fucking winner.” Tate smiles while brushing down his jeans.

“What did you have to do?”

Shaw drops his head back on the couch with a loud groan. “Come on, baby.”

I bite on my lip to stifle a laugh. I’ve grown up around men my entire life, so I know the antics they get up to.

I turn toward Mase, the one who appears the most levelheaded. “Mase, what did you have to do?”

He looks like a deer caught in the headlights at my question. “I didn’t do anything.” Mase holds his hands up in surrender.

“Nah, Mase didn’t do anything. Any-fucking-thing,” Tate jokes, earning him a glare from Owen.

“Wait. What’s going on, Shaw?” I turn back toward Shaw, who is now pinching the bridge of his nose and staring up at the ceiling.

“Fine. Fucking fine.” He stares back down at me, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “We had a dumb bet that we had to receive a blowjob every Thursday, and the winner was the one to maintain it the longest. Hence the nickname ‘Thirsty Thursday.’”

“I’m the winner!” Tate declares while tensing his biceps and kissing them, earning a chorus of groans and cusses from the others.

Shaw bends his head and kisses my neck, whispering, “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“You can make it up to me later.” I push my ass back against his cock, making him chuckle.

“Mase, were you the first to tap out or something?” I ask innocently.

Mase chokes on his beer, and I can’t help but laugh at his reaction.

“Something like that.” His jaw tics, and I realize I’ve stumbled upon something of a sore point.

“Mase doesn’t get any sexual activities. Ever,” Owen declares nonchalantly. “He’s practically a born-again virgin.”

I raise my eyebrows, shocked; I mean, the man is gorgeous and sculptured and well... gorgeous.

“His wife doesn’t want to have sex with him,” Tate announces, picking up another slice of pizza while my mouth drops open at his lack of tact.

Watching Mase not react to those words makes me wonder how many times the guys have said something about it. Clearly, he’s unperturbed and used to it.

I pull at the label on my water bottle, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry about that, Mase. Maybe therapy would help?” I shrug, not wanting to overstep the line.

Mase exhales loudly. “A divorce would be nice.”

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