I open my mouth to respond—to say something witty, or grateful, or at least coherent—when the doors explode open.
“Campus security! Nobody move!”
Flashlight beams slice through the darkness like lightsabers. Gerard, mid-handstand, colossal feet flopping wildly, crashes into the water with a spectacular splash. Drew screams at a pitch I didn’t know human males could achieve. Jackson attempts to hide behind a pool noodle, which offers approximately zero coverage for his football-player frame.
“Scatter!” someone bellows, and suddenly it’s every naked man for himself.
10
RYAN
Drew, ever the showman, grabs two handfuls of pool noodles and flings them at the nearest guard, who shrieks and ducks behind the towel bin. Nathan, moving purely on instinct, hurls himself across the wet tile and body-checks the alarm button, triggering a banshee scream that sets off every car alarm within a two-block radius. A couple of freshmen, who had been arguing over towels, sprint away, their bare butts glowing in the disco strobe of red emergency lights.
Gerard barrels into the push-bar door and vanishes into the night. The rest of the Barracudas follow in a stampede of sweaty, glittering athletes, their feet squeaking, junk flapping, and not a single one remembering to grab their clothes.
Oliver’s arm hooks around my waist. “Hold on,” he grunts, and before I can protest, I’m airborne.
He tosses me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and my face ends up approximately two inches from his ass. I can’t help but notice how even more impressive it is up close, pool water hanging on to those massive cheeks for dear life.
“Oliver, I can run.”
“You’ll slow us down. No offense.”
We burst through the emergency exit and intothe cool night air, and that’s when the absurdity of my situation crystallizes with painful clarity. I am being carried across campus by my childhood best friend, who is naked. His large hand is gripping my ass.
Do not get hard. Do not get hard. Do not get hard.
I chant it like a mantra as Oliver’s muscles flex beneath me with every stride. His palm is warm against my cheek, and his fingers are splayed, digging in ever so gently.
“Left!” Drew screams from somewhere ahead, and the naked horde obeys his command in a surprisingly coordinated maneuver.
From my upside-down vantage point, I see Jackson keeping pace beside us, his quarterback legs eating up the distance with ease. Unlike most of us, he seems to be actively enjoying this.
“This is amazing!” he howls into the night. “I feel so alive!”
“Jacky, shut up!” Drew hisses.
We thunder past the library, where a custodian presses their face against the window, mouth agape.
Oliver’s breathing is steady despite the exertion, his stride never faltering. Meanwhile, I’m bouncing against his shoulder like a rag doll, my nose periodically bumping against his lower back. Every impact sends a jolt through my body that my dick is interpreting as encouragement.
Think unsexy thoughts.Professor Schmidt’s mustache. Expired milk. The time I walked in on my brother while he was clipping his toenails.
“You okay back there?” Oliver asks.
“Peachy,” I manage. “Just figuring out my defense.”
We pass the science building, and I spot two students on the steps, phones out and recording.
“They’re still following!” Sebastian shrieks from somewhere nearby.
“Diversion!” Drew screams, and in a move that would make hockey coaches weep with pride, he peels off from the group, windmilling his arms and howling like a coyote.Two of the guards take the bait, veering after him as he zigzags between lampposts with his dick helicoptering in the breeze.
But the quad is a trap.
We pour onto the open grass and skid to a collective halt. Security golf carts ring the perimeter. Headlights blaze across the lawn, illuminating twenty-something nude hockey players in high definition.
“Oh, fuck,” Oliver breathes, his grip tightening on my ass.
