Page 15 of Plays Well With Others

Like…

The breadth of Carter’s pecs.

The smattering of chest hair over them.

Or that hair trailing down, down, down and…

His abs.

He has abs for days.

For months.

They go on forever, and that brown hair is the happiest trail I’ve ever seen.

My throat is dry.

My chest is hot.

My skin is tingling.

“How about this one?”

I jump at the sound of the deep voice. Maybe I shriek, too, as I tear my Peeping Tammy gaze from the dressing room curtain to Angel, who’s standing next to me.

“Sorry to scare you, darling.”

“I’m fine,” I squeak out right as Carter steps out of the dressing room…and, dear god, I’m not so fine anymore.

I’m having heart palpitations as I stare shamelessly at his chest. I can’t look away from all that muscle, all that golden skin, all that masculine hardness. Everywhere.

Angel whistles approvingly. “Well, hello there. Let me just go get some cheese for that grater you’ve got, thank you very much.”

Carter laughs. “I work out a little.”

“Understatement,” Angel says, then hands Carter the shirt. “This is your fine-ass size, darling.”

My friend turns back into the dressing room. I still can’t move. I can’t speak. I am officially stuck here.

There’s a tap on my shoulder then apsstin my ear. “Your jaw is open, darling,”Angel mouths.

As red seeps into my cheeks, I shut my hungry mouth, stat, then try to bleach my mind clean.

I think of things like traffic lights. And deviled eggs. And week-old moldy bread.

There. That’ll do. I’m all good.

But when Carter steps out of the dressing room with the new shirt buttoned up, I can’t stop looking at the name tag.

I’m pretty sure it can see inside my soul right now.

Randy.

6

A SHIRTLESS-NESS HANGOVER

Rachel

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