“What is happening?”
We both ignore Justin’s baffled exclamation.
“Show me the thumbs up,” Garrett says.
I give the camera a wolfish grin and stick up my thumbs.
My best friend’s snort bounces off the auditorium walls. “Veto. Do the guns. Definitely the guns.”
He takes two shots—one with flash, one without—and just like that, another romantic gesture is in the bag.
As I hastily put my clothes back on, Justin rubs his temples with so much vigor it’s as if his brain has imploded. He gapes as I tug my jeans up to my hips. Gapes harder when I walk over to Garrett so I can study the pictures.
I nod in approval. “Damn. I should go into modeling.”
“You photograph really well,” Garrett agrees in a serious voice. “And dude, your package looks huge.”
Fuck, it totally does.
Justin drags both hands through his dark hair. “I swear on all that is holy—if one of you doesn’t tell me what the hell just went down here, I’m going to lose my shit.”
I chuckle. “My girl wanted me to send her a boudoir shot of me on a red velvet chaise lounge, but you have no idea how hard it is to find a goddamn red velvet chaise lounge.”
“You say this as if it’s an explanation. It is not.” Justin sighs like the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. “You hockey players are fucked up.”
“Naah, we’re just not pussies like you and your football crowd,” Garrett says sweetly. “We own our sex appeal, dude.”
“Sex appeal? That was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever—no, you know what? I’m not gonna engage,” Justin grumbles. “Let’s find the girls and grab some lunch.”
*
Grace
Oh my God. He actually did it. I stare at my phone, torn between laughing, groaning, and running to the nearest sex shop to buy a vibrator, because hot damn, John Logan has the sexiest body on the planet.
Standing in the middle of the radio station with my tongue hanging out probably isn’t appropriate work conduct, but technically I’m not working today. I just came in to meet Morris for lunch. And I don’t even care that I’m drooling in public—the picture is that delicious. Logan’s bare chest taunts me from the phone screen, sleek honey-toned muscles, the dusting of hair between his perfectly formed pecs, his rippled abdomen. Jesus, and his boxer-briefs are so tight against his groin and thighs that I can see the outline of his—
“Well, fuck a duck,” comes Morris’s delighted voice.
I jerk in surprise, then spin around to glare at him for sneaking up on me from behind. Judging by the amusement dancing in his eyes, it’s obvious he peeked over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of the photo I’d been drooling over.
“I was wondering how he’d pull that one off,” Morris remarks, still grinning like a fool. “Shouldn’t have doubted him, though. That dude is an unstoppable force of nature.”
I narrow my eyes. “He told you about the picture?”
“About the whole list, actually. We hung out last night—Lorris is close to taking over Brooklyn, by the way—and he was moaning and groaning about not being able to track down a red velvet couch.” Morris shrugs. “I offered to throw a red blanket on the sofa in my common room and take some pictures, but he said you’d consider that cheating and deprive him of your love.”
Stifling a sigh, I shove the phone in my purse, then walk over to the mini-fridge across the room and grab a bottle of water. I twist off the cap, doing my best to ignore the sheer enjoyment Morris is getting out of this.
“I wish I was gay,” he says ruefully.
A snicker pops out. “Uh-huh. Go on. I’m willing to follow you down this rabbit hole and see where it leads.”
“Seriously, Gretch, I love him. I have a boner for him.” Morris sighs. “If I’d known he existed, I wouldn’t have asked you out in the first place.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Oh, shut up. You’re awesome, and I’d tap that in a second. But I can’t compete with this guy. He’s operating on a whole other level when it comes to you.”
It’s funny—after our brief, ill-fated foray into dating, Morris and I have become even closer friends. Sometimes the lingering guilt about kissing Logan at the Sigma party still arises, but Morris won’t let me apologize for it anymore. He insists that one measly date doesn’t count as either a relationship, or the committing of adultery, and I think he means it. I also think it’s probably better that we didn’t start anything up, because I’ve started noticing the way he looks at Daisy, and I’m pretty sure she’s the one he really wants to “tap.”