They left him there, and went about pulling on boxers and shirts. The chill, after the soak, was like a slap. Riley loved it; it made every nerve fire at once.
Finally, Jack made his exit, hands clasped in front of his groin, which only made things more hilarious. His cock, half-erect and refusing to be ignored, jutted from between his fingers.
Harper gave a slow clap. “Not bad, Jack. Who would’ve guessed?”
Riley studied the whole package—Jack’s semi-hard-on, his feigned indifference, the way he flexed his ass as if the world might miss it otherwise. The best part was the complete lack of shame. Riley had always liked that in straight guys; they might not fuck other men, but they’d never say no to admiration.
When everyone was mostly decent, Harper perched on a boulder, legs splayed, still not bothering to cover up. “You ever notice how much men talk about cocks?” she mused, reaching for her trail mix. “Way more than women do.”
Jack, now in mesh shorts and a t-shirt, said, “Valid.”
“Please,” Riley said. “Most of it is just guys wondering if they’re normal.”
Ethan, wrapped in his towel, joined them. "It's not like there's a manual."
Harper tilted her head. "Men are so obsessed with size. It's the first thing you all wonder about each other."
Riley took a seat on the flattest rock, stretching his legs out in the last streaks of sun. "There's no shame in being a grower. That's the beauty of it—you never know what you're getting. Some guys look tiny soft but double in size. Others triple." Riley grinned, dropping the towel to expose himself. "Take me—not much to look at now, but give me five minutes with the right motivation and it's a whole different story."
Harper looked him up and down, critical and appreciative at once. "Nice. Compact."
Ethan stared, then caught himself, gaze darting toward Cole before dropping to the ground. "Showers are overrated anyway."
Riley nodded his head in agreement. "The mystery is half the fun. Like Cole here—" he gestured toward the cowboy "—nobody knows what he's working with. Could be small, average, or hung like a horse."
Cole, hovering at the edge, finally joined the circle, sitting with his arms draped over his knees. "If you all put half as much effort into riding as you do into this, we'd make Glacier in two days."
Riley smiled at him. "Don't be shy, Cole. Everyone's been wondering what you're hiding in those Wranglers since day one."
The group erupted in laughter, even Ethan, who looked relieved to have the heat off him for a second.
But Riley could see the effect the talk had on Cole. His cheeks flushed, and he kept his hands knotted between his thighs. Maybe the cowboy was more self-conscious than he let on.
Jack nudged Ethan, hard. “Bet you ten bucks you can’t get through the next ride without staring at Walker’s junk.”
Ethan protested.
“It’s not a crime to look. Even I do it.” Harper said.
Cole shut the conversation down. “Let’s just get camp set. We’re staying here tonight.”
He got up, clearly done with the conversation, but not angry. Just... exposed.
They all started pitching tents, which was less euphemistic than it sounded. The spot by the spring had a flat strip of dirt under an overhang, perfect for a fire and five tents. Cole handled the logistics, as usual, barking orders with a twist of humor.
Jack and Ethan worked the stakes, Harper assembled the poles, and Riley scouted deadwood for a fire. The busyworkcalmed everyone down, or maybe just gave the conversation a new channel.
At dusk, they gathered around the fire. Harper did the honors, pouring bourbon into plastic cups. Jack claimed a log and started roasting marshmallows over the flames.
Riley sat next to Ethan, so close their thighs touched. They watched the fire for a while in silence.
“You ever feel like everyone’s waiting for you to fuck up?” Ethan asked, after a long beat.
“All the time,” Riley said. “Except I just do it, get it out of the way.”
Ethan managed a weak smile. “You make it look easy.”
“It’s not. I just don’t care anymore.”
