The two men look at each other again, and I can practically see their competitive nature kicking in. Neither wants to be the first to refuse, but neither wants to be the first to comply either.
Noah yanks his tie off with the efficiency of someone ripping off a Band-Aid. Everett follows suit, removing his with hostile precision. Both ties join the watches on the fence post.
“This is the world’s angriest striptease,” Carlotta purrs with delight. She would. “They look like they’re being held at gunpoint by a very polite photographer.”
Next come the jackets. Everett simply slips out of his without ceremony, while Noah wrestles with his like it’s personally offended him.
“Excellent!” Muffin encourages. “Now you’re getting into the spirit! Very masculine, very confident! Way to outshine one another.”
“I feel many things right now,” Everett replies dryly. “But outshined by Noah isn’t one of them.”
Lenny growls from near the stables. “Even I’m embarrassed, and I’m dead. At least when I was at the zoo, the spectators kept their distance and didn’t ask me to pose suggestively.”
“Magnificent!” Muffin exclaims. “But I think we can do better. Those shirts are hiding your best assets!”
Both men look at each other with the expression of condemned prisoners who’ve just been told the execution has been moved up.
“I’m not sure this is necessary,” Noah begins, but Everett is already unbuttoning his shirt with determined efficiency. I’m guessing it’s because he’s decided to get this over with. “If he’s doing it, I’m doing it,” Noah mutters, following suit with reluctance.
Everett unbuttons his shirt slowly, each movement as controlled ascan be. The fabric parts to expose his chest as he shrugs it away. Noah simply pulls his over his head and tosses it aside, his movements fluid and unbothered.
“Oh my word,” I breathe, because watching two of the most professionally dignified men in Vermont engage in competitive disrobing is something that I can’t tear my eyes from.
Shirts hit the straw-covered floor in rapid succession, and just like that, this wholesome little barn transforms into something that probably needs a disclaimer and a velvet rope.
Noah folds his arms across his chest, and his muscles flex as if they got the memo that this moment required extra effort.
Everett leans against the fence post with that effortless, self-assured stance that has probably caused more than a few female jurors to forget their own names. And me. What’s my name again?
Washboard abs abound as both men stand shirtless.
Carlotta chuckles. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have full chest exposure! The competition is heating up,” she says with the running commentary with the enthusiasm of a sports announcer. She drops onto her throne made of hay bales and fans herself with wild abandon. “Well, butter my biscuit and call me smitten. This is the kind of community service I can get behind.”
Muffin circles them like a hungry photographer stalking rare, shirtless wildlife. Her camera fires off shots as fast as her excitement. “Yes! Perfect! Give me intensity! Give me danger!”
“Iamdanger,” Noah says, deadpan.
Everett doesn’t even look at him, speaking directly to the camera. “He thinks he’s danger. I’m what danger fears.”
And that’s when it hits me. This calendar isn’t just a fundraiser. It’s a threat.
To my sanity.
To my heart rate.
Possibly to the foundation of the barn.
“Magnificent!” Muffin cries out, her camera clicking away. “Very brooding! Very authoritative! You both look like you could arrest someone and then sentence them to community service!”
“I’m considering it,” Noah mutters.
“The community service or the arrest?” Everett asks.
“Both. Starting with whoever convinced us this was a good idea.”
“That would be us,” Everett replies with a flat tone as if he’s reached a philosophical acceptance of his own poor judgment.
“Exactly my point.”
