Page 446 of End Game

At some point somebody turns the television off.

By then, the room has already shifted enough that silence feels better than background noise.

We stay in the living room.

That part surprises me.

Maybe because every sexual configuration we've intentionally explored until now has eventually migrated toward somebody's bedroom or Ronan's basement.

Private places.

Prepared places.

Places where sex belongs.

Tonight nobody suggests moving.

Our living room has blankets draped over the back of the couch, abandoned glasses on the coffee table, Griffin's socks beside the recliner, and a popcorn bowl that has to be relocated before someone ends up sitting in it.

It doesn't feel like a scene.

It feels like the house got horny.

Dex is shirtless first.

Naturally.

He peels his shirt off in one dramatic movement and throws it toward Ronan.

Ronan catches it on reflex.

Looks at the shirt.

Looks at Dex and drops it on the floor.

Dex looks offended. “Rude.”

“You threw laundry at me.”

“That was flirtation.”

“That was cotton.”

Micah laughs into Dex's shoulder.

Griffin's chest shakes against my back.

Even I lose it.

And somehow the laughter doesn't break the tension.

It makes the whole thing hotter because nobody is performing.

Nobody is trying to turn this into some monumental first full group experience.

We're just five people who know each other extremely well, becoming increasingly naked in a living room.

My shirt disappears.