“Hey,” Jackson says softly. “Thanks for making me do this. Not just the slide, but everything. The fake dating, the real dating, all of it.”
I pull back to take him in properly. Even soaking wet with his hair sticking up at weird angles, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “Thank you for saying yes.”
“Get back here, lovebirds!” Gerard’s voice booms. “It’s the championship round!”
“Want to go again?” I ask Jackson, already knowing the answer.
“Absolutely not.” But he’s smiling, fingers laced with mine. “Let’s get a drink and watch Nathan have an aneurysm when Gerard does his finale.”
We settle back on the deck with fresh beers in time for Gerard’s grand finale. It involves a running start, a backflip attempt, and then a not-so-subtle attempt at masturbation to rile the crowd up even further. Nathan watches from the sidelines, and it’s obvious to anyone who isn’t entirely drunk that his cock is coming to life.
“Think Nathan knows he’s in love yet?” Jackson asks, noticing the same thing.
“Nope,” Elliot says, joining us again. “But he’ll figure it out and move on. They always do.” He watches Gerard organize another round, his expression unbearably fond. “I mean, if you idiots figured it out, then I have the slightest bit of hope for the world.”
Around midnight,two campus security guards push through the crowd, their expressions suggesting they’ve seen enough naked college guys for one lifetime.
“Alright, show’s over!” the taller one shouts, already unplugging the hose feeding the slip-and-slide. “This violates at least seventeen codes.”
Gerard’s face crumples like a toddler who’s been told Christmas is canceled. “But officer, it’s for team bonding!”
“Bond with your clothes on,” the guard says, unmoved by Gerard’s Viking helmet or strategic hand placement.
Within minutes, the slide is being rolled up and hauled away, leaving nothing but wet grass and Gerard’s shattered dreams.
But this is the Hockey House, and we don’t go down without a fight. Before I can even process what’s happening, someone’swheeled out a massive speaker system, and the backyard is now a dance floor.
Bass drops hard enough to rattle my bones, and Wang Chung fills the air.
Jackson presses close to my side in nothing but a pair of…holy shit.“Are those tighty-whities?” I can’t keep the grin off my face.
His face goes red, but he stands his ground. “Ryan was right, okay? They’re comfortable once you get used to them. And they’re…supportive.”
Supportive.Right. What they are is fucking obscene, the white cotton clinging to every curve and bulge, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. The way they hug his ass threatens to kill me. I want to drop to my knees right here and worship him through that thin fabric, trace the outline of his cock with my tongue until he’s begging.
“I fucking love you,” I blurt out, because apparently my brain-to-mouth filter is broken, and I can’t stop declaring my love for him in all the ways that count.
The music shifts to something more current, and the crowd goes wild. That’s when Arthur and Tyrell arrive, taking one look at the naked dancing and immediately stripping down to join in.
“Monroe!” Arthur calls out, his tight end physique on full display as he executes a perfect body roll. “Didn’t know you had it in you!”
“I’ve had a lot in me lately,” Jackson replies, then immediately turns crimson when he realizes what he said.
Tyrell laughs, already moving his hips in ways that should require a permit.
Seconds later, Jackson lets out a sound I’ve only heard him make in bed.“Oh my God. Oh my fucking God.”
I follow his horrified gaze to the back door of the Hockey House, where Elliot Montgomery is stumbling out, completelynaked and obviously plastered. His glasses are crooked, and he’s…doing the shopping cart dance?
“Gerard!” Elliot slurs, scanning the crowd with unfocused eyes. “Where’s my Viking? I wanna…I wanna touch the helmet! Both of them!”
Gerard, who’s been grinding between two rugby players, freezes mid-thrust. His neck snaps around with enough force to send his Viking helmet flying off his head and into the crowd. When he spots Elliot—naked, drunk, and asking to touch his Viking helmet and his dick helmet—his brain short-circuits.
“Elliot?” Gerard’s voice comes out strangled. “Baby, what are you?—”
But it’s too late. Gerard’s body has already made the executive decision, his cock going from soft to spectacularly hard in about three seconds flat. And when I say spectacular, I mean it could give the Empire State Building a run for its money.
“Holy fuck,” someone in the crowd gasps.
