Page 51 of The Friend Scheme
“If it was weird, I wouldn’t have offered.”
“Okay then, sure. As long as you’re cool with it.”
“I’m more than cool,” he says, then grins, so I know he’s about to say something stupid. “I’m ice-cold.”
“Ugh.”
Still smiling, he stands and walks over to his dresser. He rifles through it, then pulls out a pair of trunks.
“Here,” he says, and he quickly tosses them at me. I catch them with one hand. They’re bright blue and have neon-pink watermelon slices on them. They’re also pretty short, and feel silky and expensive.
I raise an eyebrow.
“I know,” he says, smiling. He saunters over to me. Damn, he’s so tall. And just… so big. His chest is broad, and his biceps look especially great right now. “They were a present. But they don’t fit. I’ve never even worn them.”
He’s standing really close, and I can smell his cologne now.
“They’re not exactly my style,” I say.
He smirks. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you wore color.”
“You better not.”
He beams. “You can get changed in the bathroom; it’s down the hall.”
I leave his room and enter the hall. He closes his door behind me, presumably to get changed into his trunks.
The bathroom is just as well designed as the rest of the house. The decor is stone gray, and I really like it. I step out of my jeans, then switch into the trunks. Once I’m done, I pull my shirt off and check myself out in the cabinet mirror above the sink.
My chest is skinny, pale, and totally smooth. My ribs kind of jut out, and you can see the bones on the top of my shoulders and my collarbone. Also, my attempts to get a good tan haven’t really worked, but at least my farmer’s tan is mostly gone.
Still, the paleness kind of works with the trunks, because they’reso bright. I flex and can see a faint curve of muscle on my arms and can sort of see some definition on my chest.
Actually, maybe I’m notthatskinny anymore.
The trunks are shorter than my normal ones; they cut off at mid-thigh. I know a lot of guys wear theirs this short, but I never have. It doesn’t look bad; it’s just… different. I’m anxious about a lot of things: how hairy my legs are; a mole I have on my chest, near my heart; and how skinny my thighs are.
I don’t think this much of my thighs has seen the light of day in years.
Literally years.
I tug my shirt back on, then walk back to Jason’s room. His door is open, and he’s standing in front of his mirror, putting sunscreen on his shoulders.
He’s wearing tropical-print trunks and his tank. The trunks are pretty baggy, reaching his knees. I know that’s a less cool length than mine, but he makes them work.
He looks down at my trunks. “I was right.”
“About what?”
“I knew those would really suit you. You can keep ’em, if you want.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, man. It’s not like I’m going to get smaller. You can have ’em.”
I can’t help but smile. “Wait, really?”
“Yeah, it’s really no problem.”
