“You’re going to fix this,” he says into my hair. “You’re going to tell Jackson the truth, and he’s going to forgive you. And then you’re going to do the most sensual body painting the world has ever seen and probably get erect while doing it.”
I dutifully ignore the end of that sentence, mainly because it’s the most accurate part. “You sound very confident.”
“I’m always confident. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’m going to get erect too. Not because I’m into Nathan or anything, but from the excitement of it all.” He releases me, holding me at arm’s length. “Now. Let’s go. We’re leaving in twenty minutes, and we still need to coat ourselves in body oil.”
“Body oil?”
“For the paint to stick better. Elliot researched it.” Gerard’s already heading for the door, his ass jiggling as he goes. “Also, it makes our muscles look incredible. Win-win.”
I follow him out of my room, still not entirely sure how I went from wallowing in self-pity to receiving life advice from Gerard Gunnarson practically bare ass naked.
The Hockey House is chaos when we reach the main floor. Nathan is hyperventilating in the corner while Kyle pats his back with the enthusiasm of someone who’d rather be anywhere else. Oliver is doing last-minute stretches that show off entirely too much of his anatomy. And somewhere in the kitchen, I can hear Mason and Sebastian arguing about whether body glitter counts as art.
Something shifts in my chest as I take in my teammates.
Hope. Stupid, reckless, terrifying hope.
Maybe Jackson will show up. Maybe he’ll give me a chance to make this right. Maybe I can stop being a coward long enough to tell him what he actually means to me.
And if not—if he’s already written me off—at least I’ll know I tried.
Holy fucking shit.Jackson showed up.
I honestly don’t know how to interpret that. Is he here because of his feelings for me? Or is it out of duty? We agreed not to “break up” until spring break, and Jackson Monroe has always been a man of his word.
The event space has been divided by temporary partitions—athletes to the left, frat boys to the right, each sports team and frat house sectioned off in their own glass prisons. When I first saw these display cases yesterday, they seemed roomy enough. But now, with Jackson’s mostly naked body pressed against mine, they’re transparent coffins.
“This is insane,” I mutter, trying to adjust my thong without coming off as if I’m doing just that.
“You think?” Jackson’s voice cracks, and when I glance at him, his face is roughly the color of an apple. “I’m standing in a glass box wearing a piece of string while the entire campus watches. This passed insane about three exits ago.”
He’s not wrong, but I can’t let him spiral. Not when we’re ten minutes from showtime. Not when I can feel every inch of his skin radiating heat next to mine. I force myself to focus on anything else.
Oliver’s in the case to our left, and the bastard is completely at ease. He’s adjusting his thong by pulling it deeper between his cheeks. The man has no shame, and honestly? Good for him. Kyle, on the other hand, his fury makes him hotter. It’s deeply unfair.
Jackson makes a choking sound as he spots Gerard. “How does that even fit in a thong?”
“Ancient Viking magic?” I’m trying to keep my voice light, but inside I’m screaming. Jackson’s close enough that I can count his freckles, smell his shampoo, and feel the heat coming off his skin. And we’re both nearly naked. In public. About to perform “sensual art” for charity.
What the fuck was I thinking?
“You look good,” I blurt out, because my mouth has decided to operate independently of my brain.
Jackson’s head snaps toward me with force. “What?”
“In the thong. You look…” I gesture vaguely at all of him, from his toned chest to his long legs to the way the black fabric cups his cock just right. “Good.”
The blush spreads from his face down his chest, and it’s fucking beautiful. Even after I shot him down, he’s still affected by me. I can work with that, I think. “Oh. Um. Thanks? You too. Your ass is—” He cuts himself off, mortified.
But I’m already grinning, some of my nervousness melting away. This is Jacky.MyJacky.
“My ass is what?” I turn around, giving him the full view, and yeah, I shake it a little. Sue me. “This old thing?”
“Drew!” He’s laughing now, scandalized but also delighted. I didn’t think I’d be able to get a smile out of him, not after what happened. But I did, and it makes me feel powerful. “We’re in public!”
“We’re in a glass box in our underwear. Public decency went out the window an hour ago.” I face him again, and fuck, the way he’s drinking me in—hungry and fond and still a little shy. “Besides, you’ve seen it before.”
“Not like this,” he says quietly. “Not with everyone watching.”
