Page 32 of Drop Three

The last few times I’ve seen Bodhi this offseason, he’s been underdressed, which is my favorite attire for him. But today, the sexy Adonis is looking like a smoke show.

911, there’s a fire in the building.

His broad shoulders stretch the black cotton T-shirt he’s wearing. There’s no way he’s not suffocating himself with all that muscle squeezed into such little fabric. Maybe he should take it off?

No. No. No.

A black leather jacket envelops those heavy biceps he’s busted his ass off in the gym to build. Don’t even get me started on his thighs. I have a kink for an ass and thighs that bulge out so far cocking my head is necessary for getting the whole view.

And what a view it is.

Bodhi almost always dresses in black. Or gray on occasion. It’s strange because I am the complete opposite—vibrant color makes me feel my best self. But for some unknown reason, I’ve never found black sexier than I do when it’s masterfully clinging to his shape.

I’m not one to believe in coincidences, but Bodhi’s style often seems to replicate what’s inside me, and I firmly believe that Bodhi hides the color inside him.

He wears a mask to cover the pain.

Most people don’t see him so analytically, but I can’t help but analyze every part of him—at least every part he lets me see.

Black jeans kiss his thick thighs while the black combat boots on his feet give him an edgier look than he already has. Bodhi’s dirty blond hair is clean-cut on the sides and tossed messily. It’s such a contrast to his tan skin and black outfit, but it makes the light green of his eyes stand out luminously. His eyes resemble crystals, giving off a vampiric vibe from the striking glow.

He’s ethereal.

And he also caught me staring. Shit. I turn my head, stupidly lost in my obsession with him.

This is not healthy for me.

But Bodhi, being himself, hardly acknowledges my existence, with his hands tucked into his pockets as he and Gus approach our table.

I could bet my red Mercedes right now that Gus was the one who suggested coming over here. Bodhi would be perfectly fine hiding in a corner all night by himself.

Fine by me. He’s my friend, but it’s obvious the space we have been giving each other is more than necessary for us to get over this awkward hurdle.

My eyes find Tenley the closer they get, and I’m surprised to see her staring at the wall beside us in the opposite direction. What the hell? What does she have to be nervous about? She was literally questioning me for acting the same way.

“Tenley,” I whisper sharply, hoping she catches my urgency for her attention.

Her head swings in my direction. “Yeah? What’s up?”

I ask, “Why are you looking at the wall? At least look at me. You look like you want to lick it or something.”

Tenley laughs forcefully, and I find myself, once again, trying to analyze why she seems so caught off guard.

“Shit, okay. It’s just…why does Gus have to look like that?”

Huh?“Like what? I’m so confused.”

“Like he’s…he’s all hot and has big plans to fuck Betty in the bathroom stall and stuff…”

This conversation is taking a strange turn.

“Who’s Betty, Tenley?”

Her cheeks turn bright red. “Betty? God, it doesn’t matter. They’re right here. Play it cool.”

What in the world?We are some strange-ass women. No wonder we’re both single with the inability to properly mingle.

I refuse to look at them and wait to see which side of Bodhi we’re working with tonight—semi-chatty or closed off.

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