“Is that even possible?” another voice asks.
Gerard glances down at his erection, then back at Elliot, who’s now attempting to twerk to the beat. Our team’s golden retriever’s face cycles through about seventeen emotions before settling on panic.
“Nobody look!” Gerard tries to cover himself with both hands, which is like trying to hide a baseball bat with two postcards. “This is—I can explain!”
That’s when Oliver appears, a guardian angel in a jockstrap, assessing the situation with the efficiency of someone who’s dealt with way too much Hockey House drama.
“Nope,” Oliver says simply, grabbing Gerard with one arm and Elliot with the other. “We’re going inside before someone calls the cops again.”
“But Ollie,” Elliot protests as he’s dragged toward the door. “I wanna dance! I’m a good dancer! Tell him, Gerard!”
“You’re the best dancer, baby,” Gerard says desperately, trying to walk normally despite his situation. “We’ll dance inside, okay? Private dance. Just for me.”
“Ooh, private dance,” Elliot giggles, and I’ve never seen him giggle before. It’s terrifying. “Can I wear the helmet?”
They disappear inside, Oliver muttering something about hazard pay, leaving the rest of us in stunned silence.
“That was…” Jackson starts.
“Traumatizing?” I supply.
Kyle appears beside us, wearing only a jockstrap and an expression that could curdle milk. His eyes are locked on Alex, who’s watching the door Gerard disappeared through with a thoughtful expression.
“Don’t even think about it,” Kyle growls.
Alex blinks innocently. “Think about what?”
“You know what.” Kyle crosses his arms and spreads his legs into an imposing stance, which only emphasizes how the jockstrap is fighting a losing battle. “No stripping. No dancing naked. No ‘pulling an Elliot.’”
“I wasn’t?—”
“You were. I could see it in your eyes.” Kyle’s glare intensifies. “You stay fully clothed, or I’m locking you in the equipment shed.”
“That’s extreme,” Alex says mildly, but I catch the slight disappointment in his voice.
“Extreme is you thinking you can handle this crowd seeing your—” Kyle cuts himself off, jaw clenching. “Just keep your clothes on.”
“Fine,” Alex sighs. “I’ll remain fully clothed like a proper gentleman.”
“Good.” Kyle’s shoulders relax slightly, though he keeps shooting suspicious glances at Alex as if he might spontaneously strip at any moment.
The dynamic between them is fascinating to watch—Kyle with his barely contained protective aggression and Alex quietly amused by the whole thing. It reminds me of Jackson and me in the early days, all that tension disguised as something else.
Speaking of Jackson, he’s pressed against my back now, swaying slightly to the music. The tighty-whities situation is getting more interesting by the minute, especially when he grinds against me.
“You’re going to kill me,” I mutter into his ear.
“That’s the plan,” he says, and fuck, when did my nervous quarterback get so confident?
Around us, the party has reached peak chaos. Naked bodies writhe to the beat, some attempting to dance, others jumping around and calling it artistic expression. Arthur and Tyrell have started a dance battle that’s 40 percent skill and 60 percent dick helicoptering. The rugby team has formed a naked kick line. Three guys from the swimming team are doing synchronized body rolls that would make Channing Tatum jealous.
“This is insane,” Jackson laughs, and the sound goes straight through me. “How is this my life?”
“Ourlife,” I correct, spinning him around to face me. “This insanity is our life now.”
His eyes are bright with laughter and something deeper, and I’m struck again by how fucking lucky I am. A few months ago, I was convinced I’d never have anything real, too fucked up by my parents and my own issues to let anyone in. Now, I have Jackson all to myself, wearing tighty-whities at a naked dance party, smiling at me, loving me.
We find our rhythm, bodies moving together with the ease of recent practice. Every point of contact sends sparks through me—his hands on my hips, my thigh between his legs, the heat of him through those obscene white briefs. We’re surrounded by naked chaos, but all I can focus on is Jackson.
