Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys 2)

Because I’m suddenly rocking a semi.

Just from his eyes on me.

Normally I’d brush it off, but the more I think about that message I read before we left, the more confused I am over whether this means anything.

So I grab one of the towels still slung over his shoulder, wrap it around my waist, and shove my jeans down. It hides the problem enough that Tripp doesn’t notice as he starts to undress, and when he’s down to his briefs, solid body on display for me, I grab his towel too.

“What are you doing?” he asks, amused.

“Well … we need to be comfortable with touching each other.” I step forward and wrap it around his waist; then, as I tuck it in, the backs of my fingers graze his V and linger.

“Dex …”

I drag my eyes from his body up to meet Tripp’s stare. Unasked questions pass between us, and I … I don’t know what to say. Literally. My mind is blank. Static. Where words are gone, instinct takes their place, and I have the strongest urge to kiss him again.

So I do.

Only this time, he jerks away.

“I think we’re okay with the touching thing,” he says, his voice all scratchy. “We should get back out there.”

He spins on his heel, and I watch his broad back disappear into the locker room. I’m too … something to follow him. Something I can’t name or place, but it has my feet glued to the tile and my eyes pinned on the place he disappeared to.

I jump when Damon’s face appears around the divide. “Everything okay in here?”

I know I’m supposed to answer, but what the hell do I say?

Maybe I want to kiss Tripp again, and for some reason that thought makes me get hard?

“Need to piss.”

“Okay …”

Damon’s gaze burns my skin as I pass through to where the urinals are and force myself to go. At least it helps take care of my overeager problem.

My mouth still feels dry after I wash my hands and join them again. Tripp is sitting on a bench, and Sid directs me to put my feet up and sit along it, head on Tripp’s shoulder.

It shouldn’t be a big deal.

It shouldn’t be different from usual.

It is though.

I sit the way he’s told me, and even as Tripp’s arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me back against him, I can’t relax. I can’t sink into his hold like I have a thousand times before, because I’m more … aware of him. The flare of heat where his skin touches mine, the rise and fall of each soft breath that I normally count to fall asleep is hitting my neck and shoulder and sending goose bumps over my body.

“Cold, Dex?” the photographer asks.

“’M fine.”

“Okay, a few shots like this. Maybe some with your eyes closed, Dex, or smiling. Tripp, I want a couple of you either looking down at him or kissing his hair. Things like that. Basically, I want to feel the love, so if it feels right, do it.”

If it feels right? Normally touching Tripp does, but the only thing that feels right is standing up and walking out of here.

There’s too much riding on this for me to screw up, so I take a deep breath and remind myself that I can get through anything with him here.

Each photo, each pose, I’m still awkward and not feeling it, but I try.

Cuddled together on the bench.

Tripp with me backed into a locker and smiling at him.

With his lips on my neck.

Cradling my head as we laugh.

Fingers linked, foreheads together.

“There’s one more I’d like to try,” Sid says, scrolling through the photos. “Lose the towels, and Tripp, I’ll have you sitting on the bench; Dex, you’ll straddle his lap. These photos are sweet but still friendly. They’re missing the sexual connection I’m looking for.”

This is what I was worried about. I look at Tripp, waiting for him to put an end to it, but his expression is closed off, and no one else speaks up. I can feel the attention of everyone in the room on us.

Tripp drops his towel and takes position.

If Tripp can do this, so can I, confusion be damned. I’m not doing a great job to hide it, but if I care about Tripp, I have to.

I snap off my towel and cross toward him with a confidence I don’t feel. His eyes are on me, and I can tell he’s looking without seeing, but that doesn’t stop my heartbeat going berserk anyway.

I climb into his lap, knees either side of his thick thighs, and link my hands behind his neck.

Tripp’s gaze sharpens on me.

His lips part on a breath, and then, almost like he’s scared to, his hands close over my sides.

“Good. Much better,” Sid says.

I’m barely aware of the camera.