He put both hands on my ass and massaged in circles with his thumbs. 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. But deep down, I knew I’d crossed a line. The showers were the real kicker. I wanted to hate it, to push him away, but instead, I leaned into it, giving myself over to the pleasure he was apparently so adept at giving. He paused, picking up on my expression, then gave a half-smirk. I was eager to prove I wasn’t just some scrawny guy who got winded climbing stairs. He’d seen me looking. He started soaping himself up casually, not a trace of insecurity, running the lather across his chest and down his arms with a casualness that made my skin crawl with envy—and something else I wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Pressure. “What’s your name?” he asked, friendly enough to make me feel slightly less like an intruder. His body moved with this casual, effortless bounce that I couldn’t stop watching—even though I knew I shouldn’t be. I was screaming internally. Unless you want the whole team to bombard you with whistling and clapping. Jake glanced down, then chuckled—that low, knowing sound that made me want to crawl into
