“Fine,” he says. “But if I get shot by some God-fearing tourist, I’m haunting all of you for the rest of your lives.”
He strips down without hesitation, peeling off his t-shirt, then his sweats, then his boxers, folding absolutely nothing, just leaving a trail of clothes at the end of the bed. I look away for a second, then look back despite myself. It’s ridiculous and obscene, him standing there like sin in bad motel light.
And his body…I’ve forgotten how perfect it is, how cut and balanced, how strong. The ink tracing over his arms and shoulders. The absolute beauty of him.
The weight of his cock swinging between his legs that I try not to look at…but do.
He pads to the door and steps out, and we cluster in the doorway after him.
The corridor is lit by a line of buzzing yellow bulbs, highlighting Damian as he strolls down the walkway, lit up for anyone on the dark highway beside to see. He stops two rooms away, and knocks once, firmly, before taking a half-step back and waiting, hands clasped behind his back.
We wait a beat, my heart climbing into my throat with a fizzing mix of nerves and delight, then the door cracks open anda woman’s face appears—late fifties maybe, hair tucked under a silk cap for sleeping, wearing a comfortable set of pajamas. She just blinks at him, and then another woman appears at her shoulder, same age, holding a glass of wine.
“Happy Hellbent Night, ma’ams!” Damian says theatrically, and gives a deep, ridiculous bow.
There’s a beat of stunned silence, and then the first woman lets out a delighted, unhinged cackle that echoes down the balcony. The second one whoops like she’d put money down Damian’s pants, if he were wearing any.
“Oh mygod,” Jake chokes, laughing.
The women say something we can’t make out—one of them is actually fanning herself with her hand—and then they just start clapping, like this is the best show they’ve ever seen. Damian flashes them a wicked grin, says something else that makes them howl, and then he turns and jogs back toward us, every line of his body loose and easy.
We all scramble inside, falling over ourselves laughing. Damian comes in last, pulling the door shut behind him, and collapses on the first bed, rolling up in a big, naked, laughing ball.
Jake fills Damian’s cup with ginger ale and hands it to him, saying, “You need a drink,” then opens the whiskey again and refills the other cups.
I’m still laughing, half-breathless, heart pounding like we just got away with something.
Damian drags his boxers back on, still catching his breath. He leaves his pants and shirt on the floor and then drops onto the edge of the bed, grinning wide. I can barely drag my eyes away from the carved lines of his chest, and the way his leg muscles curve away from his knees.
“Looks like you found somewhere to crash tonight if your room gets too cramped,” quips Jake. “Those ladies liked you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” says Damian, giving me a wink that makes warmth spread on my cheeks.
He reaches down and spins the bottle. This time it swings past me, past Ryder, and stops, nose pointed directly at Jake.
Damian’s grin goes sharp and he rubs his hands together. “Oh, goodie! Retaliation. Take it off, sunshine,” he says to Jake. “Take off everything and stay naked for the rest of the game.”
“You vindictive motherfucker,” Jake exclaims, reaching back for a pillow and throwing it at him.
“Rules are rules,” Damian says with a calm smile, catching the pillow out of the air.
Jake takes a deep breath, eyes narrowing as he looks accusingly around the room, as if we’re all complicit in this, before standing up and hauling his t-shirt over his head, muscles flexing across his shoulders, the faint dusting of brown chest hair I miss running my fingers through. He yanks his sweats down, then his boxers, and then he drops back down on the bed beside Ryder, grinning widely as if this is the most comfortable thing in the world.
The room feels smaller with him naked like that. Hotter. My mouth is dry.
“Happy?” he asks Damian.
“Getting there,” Damian says, smug. “Spin, please.”
Jake flips him off, then leans forward and gives the bottle a spin. This time it points straight at me.
Ugh. My heart lurches. Four pairs of eyes land on me at once.
Jake’s expression softens, just a little. “Okay—Max’s turn.”
“Be nice,” Wyatt says, half warning, half plea.
“I’m always nice,” Jake lies. He studies me for a beat, a little drunk and a lot fond. “All right,” he says slowly. “This is a bit controversial but I’m going there. Truth dare for you, Maxie. If you had to kiss one of us right now, who would you pick?”
