“Oh, fuck you.” She threw the Frisbee so hard and fast that it knocked the cup closest to Gucci off before he could try to catch it.
Houdini gaped at his partner, and then his eyes trailed down her bikini-clad body, covered only in a pair of super-short jean shorts. “Uh…that was—”
“Hot? Badass?” she asked. “I know. You don’t have to act so surprised.”
I exchanged a look with Gucci that said Houdini didn’t know what the hell he was in for with that one, and then Gucci threw the Frisbee back, aiming for the cup near Houdini, who was still so stuck on Whiplash that he just let the cup fall to the ground.
“Are we playing or what?” I called out, and Houdini finally snapped back to attention, allowing the game to begin. Back and forth we went, and as the cups went flying, we dove into the sand for them before they could hit the ground. Whiplash was a beast at the game, as were we, but poor Houdini couldn’t seem to stop getting distracted by his partner, which seemed to frustrate her more and more as the game went along.
“Oh my God,” she finally shouted when Houdini missed a fallen cup. “I need a new partner. Hey, Panther, come show your guy how to use his hands.”
“I know how to use my hands,” Houdini mumbled, but I was no longer paying attention, because Panther was walking out of the water, his swim trunks plastered to his body. He ran his hand through his hair as the waves crashed around his ankles, and damn, the man was unreal. I was careful not to let my jaw drop as I took in every wet inch of him, and I would’ve kept staring if Gucci hadn’t coughed, forcing me to look away.
“You having problems with your aim, Houdini?” Panther’s voice found the three of us as he came closer, and if I thought not looking at him would help the sudden throb between my legs, knowing he was heading this way and I was about to have to face off with him did shit to help me get a hold of myself.
Okay, wrong choice of words. Right then I really could’ve used a minute to take hold of myself, but since that was out of the question, it looked like I’d be willing my damn cock into submission.
“So the aim of the game is what, exactly?” Panther walked up beside Whiplash, who handed him the Frisbee.
“You aim this at their sticks and try to knock the cup to the sand.”
By this time I felt fairly sure I was decent enough to turn back and join in on the conversation. Plus, I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to fuck with my opponents. I aimed my eyes in Panther’s direction and reached out to stroke the stick directly in front of me.
“Yeah, Panther, just focus on my stick.”
Gucci scoffed beside me, as Whiplash groaned, but Panther, cool as ever, ran his hands over the Frisbee and eyed the pole in the sand. Not a second later, his hand shot out and he sent the round disc flying through the air, but instead of hitting the stick in front of me, it smashed into Gucci’s, sending his cup flying over Gooch’s head and into the sand.
“Hell yes!” Whiplash called out, pumping her fist in the air. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
Panther aimed a smug smirk in my direction. “I was more inclined to focus on the person with the biggest stick. Sorry, that just wasn’t you.”
Whiplash busted out laughing. “Maybe the biggest ego…”
I shrugged, grinning. So that’s how it was gonna be, huh? If Panther thought I was about to get upset or offended by his little jab, he was in for a rude shock. I picked up the Frisbee and looked at the two gloating at the other end.
“Maybe it’s time to show you who’s got the biggest stick out here. ’Cause I gotta say, I’ve known Gooch a while, and—”
“Hey, man, not cool.”
“You know it’s true.”
As Whiplash pretended to gag, Panther crossed his arms over that powerful chest and gave an arrogant tilt of his head, as if daring me.
“You two going to shut up sometime soon and play or keep flapping your mouths?”
Right, game fucking on. By the time I was done out here, there’d be no question as to whose stick was the biggest of all, and it wasn’t going to be Gucci’s.
13Panther
FIVE GAMES LATER, and we kicked Solo and Gucci’s ass. I’m not proud to admit it, but I used the fact that Solo couldn’t tear his eyes off me to my advantage. But hey, what could I say? I was there to win, and by the time we were done with the fifth match, Gucci had thrown up the white flag and surrendered.
“Okay, I give,” he called out. “My ass hurts from the beating you two just gave us.”
At Gucci’s choice of words, my eyes wandered to Solo, who brought the beer in his hand up to his mouth, took a long swallow, then said, “Speak for yourself, I like feeling it the next day. Reminds me I was giving it my all.”
The guy was so blatant with his remarks that he had me looking around to make sure no one was about to call him out—or worse, kick his ass. But as everyone laughed and went about their business, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to feel so comfortable in my skin. Even for one day.
As we all headed back up the shore to where the bonfire was now roaring, I caught sight of Solo and Gucci talking with Utah. The three of them were laughing about something one of them had said, and when Utah began drawing something in the air with the tip of his finger, it didn’t take a genius to work out the talk had reverted to the legend that was the sky penis.
