The cashier’s eyes widen. Heat floods my face for the second time this morning.
“You couldn’t have said thatbeforewe got to the register?” I hiss, realizing too late that I should have denied his assumption, even if it’s a correct one.
“I didn’t think it was relevant to our current transaction.” Ryan adjusts his coat, completely unbothered that he just announced his and my tighty-whitey needs to a stranger. “Macy’s has a sale on its store brand. Three-packs for twelve dollars.”
The cashier hands me my bag, barely suppressing his laughter. I grab it and Ryan’s arm, dragging him toward the exit. “We are never speaking of this again,” I mutter.
“Speaking of what? Our perfectly reasonable need for new undergarments?”
“Ryan.”
“They’re practical and comfortable. I don’t understand the stigma.”
A couple of girls from BSU walk by, and I pray they didn’t hear any of that. The last thing I need is the Ice Queen getting wind of our underwear preferences.
“Fine,” I sigh as we head toward Macy’s. “But you’re buying them yourself. I’m not standing there while you debate thread counts or whatever.”
“Thread count is for sheets, Jackson. For briefs, one considers the cotton blend and elastic quality.”
I’m going to need therapy after this shopping trip, aren’t I?
“Jackson? Macy’s is this way,” Ryan says.
I course-correct, narrowly avoiding a collision with a potted plant, and grimace. Underwear shopping with my best friend. Just another perfectly normal Saturday in my increasingly complicated life.
I never expectedto walk into the Hockey House and hear the unmistakable sounds of Drew jerking off. However, I shouldn’t be surprised that he does it. All guys do. Hell, I did it this morning while Ryan was taking a shower. But knowing and hearing are two different things.
I don’t know what to do. Should I turn around? Should I knock and interrupt? We’re “boyfriends”; we’re bound to see each other naked at some point, right?
“Oh, fuck—yeah, just like that,” Drew groans from behind his partially open door, andfuck, my dick immediately takes interest.
“Jackson!” Gerard’s booming voice makes me jump about three feet in the air. “You know, you’re the fifth person today to walk in on Drew having some alone time. I’m starting to think he’s doing it on purpose.”
I spin around to find Gerard standing before me in all his naked glory. A towel is casually draped over one shoulder, and his hand is on his cocked hip like he’s posing for a Renaissance painting. Except, Renaissance painters probably never had to capture…that.
Gerard’s dick hangs halfway down his legs, resting against a ginormous pair of balls. I’ve seen plenty of guys naked in locker rooms, but this is something else entirely.
“I—uh—I was just—” My voice cracks, and I force my eyes up to Gerard’s face. Big mistake. He’s grinning at me with that sunshine smile that makes everyone fall a little bit in love with him.
“No judgment here, buddy! A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” Gerard heads down the hall, and that’s when I get a full visual assault of the famous Gunnarson ass. Each cheek moves independently as he walks, and I now understand why the Ice Queen dedicated an entire post to it.
“Stop perving on my boyfriend, Monroe.”
My pulse spikes as Elliot appears without warning at my shoulder. He’s wearing one of Gerard’s oversized hockey jerseys and nothing else.
“I wasn’t—I mean—he was there and—” I’m stuttering uncontrollably, my face burning hotter than the surface of the sun.
“Relax, I’m kidding. Mostly.” Elliot’s eyes narrow behind his glasses. “Though I have to say, if you’re going to eye-fuck someone, shouldn’t it be your own boyfriend?”
Before I can form a coherent response, Drew appears in his doorway, fully clothed and looking way too amused for someone who was supposedly jerking off. His hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place, and there’s no sign of the post-orgasm haze one would expect.
“As vice president of the Gerard Gunnarson Fan Club, Jackson is allowed to stare,” Drew says smoothly, coming to my rescue. “It’s in the bylaws.”
Elliot rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous. And you”—he points at me—“should be in there helping Drew instead of leaving him to handle things solo. What kind of boyfriend are you?”
My face somehow gets even hotter. “I—we—that’s not?—”
“Come on, Jacky.” Drew grabs my arm and pulls me into his room.
