Page 10 of Tough Guy and the Show Off

“Okay,” I grunt, not really aware of anything he’s saying. He’s still talking as he disappears into the bathroom.

I shake my shoulders out, then hurriedly get to my feet to strip out of my suit. I opt for pajama pants instead of hanging out in my briefs like I normally do, then I climb under the blankets and pull them up to my chest.

Trav comes out of the bathroom, pausing to look at me with his head tilted. He’s only wearing briefs, which is slightly distracting, so I turn my gaze to the still blank television.

He mutters something I can’t make out as he plops down on his own bed and turns the TV on. I’ll watch for a few minutes, then I can pretend to fall asleep so this night will be over, and hopefully I can somehow start fresh in the morning.

Yes. That’s a good plan.

SIX

SHOW

It’s official—Beau is being fucking weird and I have to do something about it. Not only has he refused to even look at me since we got to our room, sitting over on his bed with his blankets pulled up to his chin like he’s an aging widow who can’t afford to pay for heating in the winter, but we’re halfway through the latest episode of Sin City Cars and he hasn’t made one comment about the insane requests from the customers at this car shop. One dude asked them to give his vintage 1970 GTX a circus-themed paint job. There’s no way Beau didn’t have opinions about that.

I hit the button on the remote to pause the show then sit up, swinging my legs over the side of my bed so I’m facing him.

“Dude, for real, what’s going on? Are you crashing out because your game sucked tonight?” Plenty of guys lose their shit when they have an off night and cost the team the game, but that’s not Beau. He’s a get-shit-done kind of guy. He doesn’t sulk, he makes a plan for how he’s going to improve for next time.

His face twitches and he keeps his eyes trained on the TV screen even though the show is paused. He hesitates for a second, then nods. “Yeah,” he says gruffly. “Just feel like shit for letting the team down.”

It’s true, but it’s not true; I can tell. I know Bozy better than anyone and I know when he’s lying. He shifts his weight and readjusts his blanket when it starts to slip down, tugging it right back up to his chin.

“Are you naked under there or something?” I tease. If he’s not going to act like a grown-up and tell me what his fucking problem is, I’m happy to be immature with him and find a childish way to get it out of him.

I pounce onto his bed and tug at the blanket.

“I’m not naked, weirdo.” He wrestles to keep the blanket right where he wants it, and I tug harder.

“Then why are you clinging to a stupid, bedbug-infested comforter like your life depends on it?” I yank it again, bouncing on my knees, making the mattress springs and the bed frame creak and groan.

“Eww,” he mutters, letting go of the blanket unexpectedly, sending me toppling backward onto the floor with a thud. “Shit, are you okay?”

His head pops into view, craning over the side of the bed so he can look down at me. Wait, is he actually naked? All I can see are his shoulders, and they’re bare. Was Beau really chilling in his bed two feet away from me completely naked under his blanket? The image of him on the bed last night rushes to the front of my mind, naked, sweaty, grunting every time he shoved his fingers inside himself. Heat rushes through me and I scramble to sit up.

“I’m fine.” I reach up and press two fingers to the back of my head, then carefully walk them down the column of my neck just to make sure nothing feels sore.

Beau sits up too, and I see his pajama pants sitting low on his hips. Not naked. A strange feeling prickles through my stomach. Relief? Disappointment? No. Why would I be disappointed that he’s not naked? I laugh and he cocks his head, wordlessly asking to be let in on the joke. I shake my head and then lean against the side of my bed to get more comfortable. The floor actually isn’t too bad though.

“What’s wrong?” I ask again, hoping his guilt about almost injuring me will be enough to make him answer me this time.

He looks over my head into the middle distance, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs while he seems to work out whatever he wants to say.

“I just feel awkward,” he mutters with a rasp in his voice. “You’re probably looking at me differently and I feel all fucking exposed and shit.”

I frown, then it clicks and I bark out a laugh.

“Are you serious? You played like shit tonight because you’re all in your head that I saw you playing with your dick? I told you it’s no big deal.” I drag myself up off the floor and back onto my bed to sit on the edge, facing Beau.

“I know.” He bounces one knee and rubs his hands up and down his thighs again, still staring at the wall so he doesn’t have to look at me. “But I can’t shake the feeling. I don’t know what to do.”

I want to laugh it off again, but it’s obvious he’s actually freaking out about this, which starts to make me kind of fucking nervous. Is he going to ask to room with someone else on roadies from now on? Is he going to stop wanting to talk to me or working out together or living across the hall from me just because I caught him jerking off? No, no way. I can’t live with that. I need to find a way to show him that it’s not a big deal. I need him to see that it doesn’t have to change anything.

My mouth is about thirty seconds ahead of my brain, blurting the words out before I have a chance to think about them at all.

“Do you want to watch me jerk off? Will that level the playing field?”

His eyebrows shoot up and his face flushes pink. Beau sputters a laugh and finally looks at me.