The showers were the real kicker. That was just… nerves. It was fast, efficient, like he’d done this for teammates before. My older brother wrestled, and I observed him over the years as it cemented his confidence. I turned my water to cold, hoping to shock myself back to some version of normal. I melted, dropping my head as he massaged little knots and sore spots I didn’t even know I had. “You want me to get your back?”
I knew I could say no. Unless you want the whole team to bombard you with whistling and clapping. My eyes darted back to my chest, but the damage was done. His firm, round, and perfectly proportioned ass could have been a centerpiece at a museum of male anatomy. When he was done soaping up, and I was still trying to act like my body hadn’t just betrayed every assumption I had about myself, we rinsed off side by side. I gasped—loudly. I gasped—loudly. I heard one of the guys from down the row yell, “Hey, save some romance for the honeymoon!”
Laughter broke out, and I wanted to melt into the tile.
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