Page 65 of Loathing My Boss
Beside me, Viktor stands in a t-shirt and trunks, taking in the view.
Otherwise known as me.
I’m the view.
“Stop looking at me,” I mutter.
He blinks, seemingly coming aware of the fact he’s been staring for five minutes. “Oh. Sorry,” he says, cordially. Thenhe peels off his shirt.
My heart jerks up into my throat as my eyes bug.
One by one, abs appear until there are a total of eight chiseled sections upon the man’s glowing, warm midsection. I…guess he hits his at-home gym after I leave his house each day. I think Lukas did tell me, once, that Viktor works out with him, because it’s one of the few things they both enjoy doing. Very opposite personalities, those two.
Jeepers…
Viktor mustreallylike spending time with his crazy popstar brother.
Like. Really, really,biglike.
I did not know that abs came in sets of eight. This feels similar to the hot dog pack versus hot dog bun question, but I am not ready to ponder it. I will never be ready to ponder it.
Rubbing his neck as he drops his shirt atop the small pile of things I brought from home—snacks, towels, sandwiches—Viktor watches me as though I’ve not just learned he hasshoulders, andbiceps, andtriceps, and probably all theceps, straight throughdeca.
His fingers comb through his hair as he glances down at the shirt I’m wearing, which is covering my bathing suit and not even a singular ab.
I hug myself. “Nu-uh. Don’t you raise your brow at me like that.I’mnot an exhibitionist.Myshirt stayson.”
Even his chuckle sounds jacked as he extends his hand. “May I have some sunscreen?”
“Why do you need it? You’reglowing. One with the sun. At peace with the skin cancer. A peachy bundle of sinew and epidermis. I betyoutan.”
Humor lacing his voice, he murmurs, “What of myancient flesh, sweet pea? I must protect my paper-thin skin from the death rays of the sky laser.”
I cannot help myself; I laugh. Then I stuff the laugh down and lift my nose, benevolently extending my sunscreen to administer a gloop. “Fine. You’re right. Silly of me. Your decrepit body will turn to dust without protection.”
I donotwatch him lather up every single muscle. Or maybe I do. Who can say for sure?
Gracious.
You’d think I’ve never seen a man half-naked before, but I most definitely have. I even face such sights often when Lukas isn’t on tour.
That man has some kind of vendetta against shirts. He meanders the halls of his home either completely topless or wearing this long black coat cast wide to display the tattoos across his chest and around his waist. Allegedly, Zakery inked them himself.
Tattoo lore aside, I have never once counted how many abs Lukas has. And I do not know why I’ve taken such an interest in such things today.
Dragging my attention up and firmlyoffthe bare skin, I find myself the subject of Viktor’s boring eyes.
Jolting, I stammer, “Y-yes, what?”
He turns a new realm of muscles on me as he presents his back. Broad. Wing bones. Skin.
Too much epidermis for a lass like me to handle.
My brain turns off.
“Can you help me?” he asks.
Help…him…what?
