Page 28 of Muscle Cub

To confirm for themselves whether or not that was possible, Ben, Lance, Alex, and Noah all turned to peer at Austin.

Austin smiled and waved.

And everyone—everyone at the fucking table, except me—waved back.

Great. “He definitely knows we’re talking about him now.”

Eric huffed. “I’m sure he’s used to it. Half the men here are probably talking about him.”

And he could have his pick of any of them.

Eric must have read my mind because he reached past Ben and laid his hand on my arm. “He spent the night with you.”

I rolled my eyes. Eric was now one of those people, so in love he wanted everyone else to feel what he was feeling. “It was a hookup.”

“Was he too drunk to make it back to the bunkhouse?”

“No.”

“Was there spooning?” Eric held up a hand to stop my protest. “I’m not asking for sex details. I want to know if cuddling occurred.”

I half shrugged, half nodded. His cross-examination deserved a petulant gesture.

“Ah-ha!” Eric slapped the tabletop a second time. “See? Nobody crashes in a fucking tent when they’ve got a real bed within walking distance unless they can’t physically get to it or there’s something way better in the tent. Some of these dudes won’t even fuck a guy in a tent unless he’s really hot.” Alex and Noah snickered. “No, seriously. It’s true. It’s a thing. Ask around.” He turned back to me. “I think Austin’s genuinely into you. When you guys were talking out on the side deck at the bar last night, we went and peeked.”

“You went and peeked,” Ben corrected him.

Eric ignored him. “I saw how he was looking at you, Paul. And he told us the other night that he was into older guys.”

“So I’m like… a fetish or something.”

“Dude. He was dancing for you. He was dancing at you.”

Ben hummed, a wordless sound of agreement. “He’s also been wearing your shoes all day.”

I stared at him. Ben wasn’t quick to share his opinion about anything trivial, and when he did choose to speak, it was worth paying attention to.

“Paulstin.” Eric snapped his fingers, the name having just occurred to him. “Hashtag fucking Paulstin.”

While the boys were high-fiving Eric’s wordplay, Ben raised his eyebrows at me. “It’s not nothing.” He was still referring to the shoes.

Austin had already changed clothes twice that I knew of before noon. He’d had to have taken the shoes off both times—once to get those tiny shorts off; another to put those socks on. He’d definitely chosen to keep wearing my shoes.

And I didn’t know for sure how much he’d had to drink or what kind of tolerance he had, but at any point in the night, he could’ve crept out and gone back to his own bed.

I motioned for the guys to settle the fuck down. Not only were other people looking over now, wondering what the joke was, but Austin and his coworker were watching us while speaking intently with their heads together.

“It was hot,” I said to Ben as if he was the only one listening. “It was nice. But I’m pretty sure it was probably like, you know, a… one-night stand.”

“The weekend’s not over,” Eric said. “Hashtag Paulstin.”

I hadn’t told them my intentions to leave either this morning or maybe this afternoon, and the Bloody Mary buzz had already made it unlikely I’d get out of there before tomorrow morning. Eric had been right to warn me; that may have been the strongest drink I’d ever consumed in my life.

With the sun shining, the pool deck filling up with men, and the DJ setting up beside the bar, the thought of packing all my shit and carrying it to the truck seemed like some kind of punishment.

Missing out on whatever today might have to offer, what tonight might bring, the opportunity to talk to Austin more…

That would be self-imposed exile.