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Damn. Sure, it was just a white V-neck, but it was a pretty effing expensive white V-neck.
I slipped my shoes then socks then jeans off, soon down to nothing but a pair of vertically striped red-and-gray boxer briefs—also pricey—I stepped over to my dresser and fished out a pair of dark blue Baggiess.
I made the swap, my flaccid dick bouncing around reminding me instantly of the incident at the spa, as if the oil on my body wasn’t already doing a good job of that.
I stood there for a moment, totally naked, my baggies in my hand as I stared into space.
“Fuck,” I said, thinking about my little flight from the scene. “Stupid move. Nice work, Sean.”
Of course, when it came to shit like this, hindsight was more than 20/20—it was damn near Lasik perfect. Sure, my cock had been flopping around, sure I’d been alone, naked, in a room with a woman I’d been doing my best to very, very immaturely avoid. But I couldn’t, I don’t know, at least give her a “hey, what’s up?” before fleeing from the scene like I’d robbed the joint.
C’est la vie, as I’d heard over and over during my last show in Lyon.
I stepped into my baggies and, after making myself a cold brew with a splash of cream, went out, drink in hand to the patio.
I loved my house, but most of all I loved the damn view. My spot in the Hills looked out over all the swoops and dips of the landscape covered by the city that I loved, the towers of downtown looming, the water sparkling all the way in the distance. Property taxes were a bitch, sure, but it was a small price to pay.
Moments later I was in the pool, my arms draped over the edge, my head leaned back. And, you guessed it, the second I felt like I’d had some peace and quiet I was right back to thinking about the incident. Hell, by this point I was capitalizing it in my head—The Incident—for extra ominous points.
Before too long I was going to see Shania again, and this time I seriously, seriously doubted that we’d have the same unspoken understanding we’d had every other time we’d seen each other since my friend group and hers and come into each other’s lives. Nope—this time it was going to be all awkward tension and weird vibes.
My gut tightened at the thought of one of my boys or her girls noticing, maybe after a couple of drinks, and blurting out their oh-so-astute observation that something was most definitely up between us. And little did they all know how deep this “something” went.
No getting around it, of course—Shania still looked so good it almost hurt my dick to think about. Back at UCLA she’d been gorgeous, of course, but it’d been more in the “just out of the awkward stage” kind of hot, like in one of those 80s comedies where they make the nerdy girl hot, but the nerdy girl’s already pretty sexy before, only with glasses and kind of messy hair. That was Shania back in the day.
Back when we’d fucked.
Shit, it’d been…ten years? If not more. It was the year I’d made the call to finally drop out of college for good and go on our big first tour with the Lover Boys, right before we’d hit it really, really fucking big. So I’d had his total devil-may-give-a-shit attitude about college, knowing I already had one foot out the door and on the tour van.
I’d partied, drank like a madman, and hooked up with co-eds like it was going to be made illegal. I’d had my first shine of fame, and it made the freshmen girls all want to stick to me like a, uh, well, a very expensive T-shirt sticks to a back covered in massage oil.
But there’d been something different about Shania, something that burned her into my brain and made her pop into my head on a damn near regular basis, even all these years later. And then when she’d come back into my life again after all this time she was looking better than ever. Whatever awkwardness she’d been in the process of growing out of was long, long gone.
And, as much as I’d mentally ragged on the weird Roman uniforms when I’d stepped into the spa, holy freaking shit did she make that goofy getup work. The toga thing was tied in the front, showing off a little bit of cleavage, and the hem was right at mid-thigh. Sure a hell of a lot better than what I’d been wearing.
That is, nothing at all.
I snapped back into reality, glancing down under the rippling, warm water to see that my cock was fully at attention, really putting the strength of the baggies material to the test. And then it occurred to me that I wasn’t in the mood for a soak. I was into…something else.
