“So he takes his shirt off, and he’s just lying there in his jogging pants or whatever. I think that’s what they were, some gray, baggy pants. And he had boxers on—which I only know because I had my hand halfway down his pants and kept rubbing the fabric.”
The visual of Abbott with her hand down my pants, stroking the soft cotton of my boxer briefs has me swallowing the lump forming in my tight throat.
I nod behind her, fingers white-knuckling the blanket. “Uh-huh.”
“But now he’s the only one lying there half-dressed. So, I stand up and take off my bottoms.”
“Like how?” I play dumb.
“You know, I took off my pants.”
“Your pants?”
Abbott cocks her head, and I can hear the wheels turning. She isn’t sure if I’m bullshitting her, or if I’m just so stupid I don’t know what it means for a chick to pull her pants off.
“Maybe you should show me.”
She scoffs, not falling for my trick. “Ha ha, I’m not falling for that.”
“If I take off my shirt, you can take off your pants, then it will be fair. I really want to know what Extreme Cuddles is, but I need a visual.” I shrug casually. “That’s the architect part of me—I need to see the entire picture. Draw me a map.”
A treasure map to the P and the V.
“Ugh, okay, but only because I know you won’t get turned on.” She huffs, climbing off the couch to stand, and slowly peels off the blue velour bottoms that have been driving me insane, tickling my thighs.
While she’s taking off her pajama bottoms, I peel off my T-shirt and lie back down, watching the rest of the show.
Her ass in a hot pink thong. Slim thighs. Smooth butt cheeks.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Abort, my head cries.
Touch her, my dick urges.
Everyone calm the fuck down, my brain shouts, irritated.
Abbott climbs back under the covers, dragging them up her body to cover her bare lower half, then goes on with her story. “Alright, so he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and I wasn’t wearing bottoms. And at some point, I finally say, ‘Maybe you should take off your bottoms, too.’”
“What did he say?”
“His eyes got real wide, and he goes, ‘Just my pants?’ and I said, ‘How about everything? That makes the game really dicey.’” She laughs at the memory. “I’ve never seen a guy pull his underwear off so fast in my entire freaking life.”
“Wanna make a bet?” I can’t help boasting.
I’ve got at least sixteen years on the pissant who played grabby-grabby with college-aged Abbott, and I bet I can move ten times faster, because I’m not a fucking boy.
And just because I’m a grown-ass man doesn’t mean my hormones aren’t raging like a freight train.
“Pfft. No one can get their pants off faster than Billie Belmont.”
Hold up—pause.
First of all, what the fuck kind of name is that, and where the hell was she meeting her friends? The Junior league? Jesus Christ, I thought our names were bad, but Billie Belmont?
“When do you get to the part where you take your shirt off?” I desperately want to know, dying of curiosity, wondering if she’ll take her top off now. I mean—what’s the big deal? Knowing my neighbor, she undoubtedly has four layering shirts under the pajama top she has on.
“Not for a while. We lay there watching the show, the poor kid. I swear, he was sweating before he removed his clothes, but afterward? Wow. You’d think it had been raining outside he was so moist.”
“Sexy.”
“Aw, thanks.”
“I didn’t mean you—I meant the word moist.”
“He was though. Moist, that is, getting the blanket all sticky. And I told him so.”
She has seriously got to stop saying the M word. It’s making my ass cheeks pucker. “Jesus, that poor kid.”
“Yeah.” More laughing. More wiggling. More chugging from the water on the table. “So, I’m wondering when you’re going to rip off all your clothes like Billie did, just to prove a point.”
“What point would that be?”
“That you can keep your hands off me while we’re lying here.”
Her delivery is casual, as if she didn’t just drop a naked bomb. As if she isn’t taunting me with nudity, which leads to touching, which leads to sex and orgasms and bliss.
“The point of the game is temptation. Sexual tension.” The worst kind of torture. “That’s not our endgame here.”
Because we’re friends. And friends don’t fuck.
“Just so you know, despite what you think, keeping your hands off me would be more difficult than you think.” The little shit actually yawns—or, feigns a yawn. Shit, I can’t tell if it’s real or fake. “You don’t have the balls to lie there and not touch me and not get turned on,” she goads, patting her mouth, bored and gloating, like she’s already won some bet between us I wasn’t aware she’d made.
Little does she know, I win everything.
“You don’t have the lady balls to lie there and not beg me to put my hands on your tits.”
“Pfft, please—you’re forgetting I’ve played this game before.” Abbott stretches, uses her core muscles to rise to a sitting position, reaches for the hem of her top, and lifts it.
I was wrong; it’s one shirt, and Abbott isn’t wearing a bra.
Covering her breasts, she lowers herself back down and weasels her hot little body into mine.
“What was that idiot’s name you dated in college?” I need her to say it again—maybe it will make my half-hard boner deflate.
“Billie Belmont.”
Stupid fucking name.
“Yeah—I’m about to smoke that guy in the pants removal competition.”
“Brooks.” Abbott laughs, smooth expanse of back taunting me. “It’s not a competiti—”
Too late. I’m shucking off my motherfuckin’ pants faster than that little douche did, guaranteed, kicking them toward the foot of the sofa, my legs caught in the ankle of one. I give it a good shake until they flop limply on the floor.
“Dear Lord, drama queen.” She’s laughing at me, but there’s an edge to it telling me she’s nervous. Not as unaffected as she’s pretending to be while I lie here in all my naked glory, yanking at the blanket neatly folded on the back of the couch and pulling it over my semi-boner.
“Now what?” I want to know.
“Now we lie here and watch TV.” Her tone implies that I’m an idiot for asking, her eyes glued to the screen in front of us.
“That’s it?”
“Yes, just lie there.”
“Naked?”
“Duh. That’s where the extreme part comes in.”
“This is fucking stupid,” I complain, not sure where to put my hands and on the verge of bitching about how cold this living room has suddenly just become. My nut sac is now the size of two walnuts, despite my growing penis.
“You can touch me if you’re weak.” Abbott isn’t looking back, but I hear her rolling her eyes. “But the point is to hold out and have a little self-control.”