Page 110 of The Ruthless Boys (Adamson All-Boys Academy 2)
Something seems a little fishy here, and it’s not the giant, glittering koi I can see beneath the red bridge.
We head inside and find our rooms, all of which are on the first floor, with exterior doors that face a beautiful central garden. There’s a huge wall made of tightly woven logs that surrounds it, but when I my put my palms up against it and try to peek between them, I can see a glimpse of the hot springs themselves.
“There are naked people in this one,” I comment as Church comes up to stand beside me. He leans forward and takes a look, too, although he doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by all the flopping dick on the other side of the fence.
“One of the pools is clothing optional,” he says, and I raise a brow, glancing over at him with a skeptical expression on my face.
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, when I say optional, I mean, you’re not allowed to wear clothing of any kind into the pool. That’s the one we’ll be using.”
“Like hell we will,” I snort, following after him as he heads back into our room. There are traditional tatami mats on the floor as well as folded futons with bedding in neat stacks atop them, as well as a pair of what I think are yukatas hanging on hooks beside the door.
Church pulls one down and hands it over to me before taking the other for himself. His is an intriguing silver-blue color with a woven pattern and a turquoise tie that goes around the waist while I’ve been given a charcoal gray one with a white sash. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with it.
“Put it on,” Church encourages, smiling at me as he reaches up to undo his tie. I watch him pop each button on his shirt with slow, careful precision before I finally turn away, listening to the sound of fabric hitting the floor.
“You’re not looking, right?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder to make sure his back is turned. It is, but I’m ashamed to admit, I ogle the smooth muscular line of his back before I avert my own gaze.
“I wouldn’t dare peep. Where’s the fun in that? We’re saving it for marriage, aren’t we?”
I roll my eyes.
“Wow, you’re hilarious, you know that? Seriously funny stuff.” I strip down, leaving the bindings on my breasts, and … yes, the packer penis in my tighty-whities. Until we know more about what’s going on at the Adamson campus, I’m keeping my secret for as long as I can. If it means having a fake, floppy dick rubbing against my crotch all day, then that’s the price I have to pay, isn’t it?
“Ready?” Church asks.
“Ready.” We both turn around, and I find myself fucking awestruck at the sight of him in that yukata which, if you didn’t know, is a traditional Japanese robe made of cotton and worn during the summer months. Technically, we’re just about into fall here, but you won’t find me complaining.
The garment’s a little large for him, so it slides off one shoulder, showing off the smooth, muscular lines of his body and stealing my breath away. He tosses that honeyed hair from his forehead with the heel of his hand, and smiles at me.
“You’re a very handsome young man, Chuck,” he teases as I push my glasses up my nose with a single finger. They’re pretty fogged up at the moment which is embarrassing as hell.
“And you know you cut an okay figure in that too, don’t you?” I ask, but Church doesn’t answer me. Instead, he opens the sliding screen door and leads me downstairs to the tearoom where the rest of the Student Council is already situated, kneeling on pillows around a low table that’s covered in steaming teapots and tiny handle-less cups in white, cherry blossoms painted onto the sides.
“This looks crazy authentic,” I say, pouring myself a cup of steaming green tea and lifting it to my nose for a sniff. Dad’s in here, sitting at a table with Mr. Murphy, Mr. Dave, and several other teachers whose names I can’t remember. He glares at me, but only for a moment, redirecting his attention like I’m not worth his time.
My hands tighten on my cup.
“It’s not,” Church says, lounging in just such a way that one, long pale leg is exposed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was doing this on purpose, trying to tease me with all that skin. His shoulder is still exposed, his elbow resting on his knee, fingers digging into the gorgeous golden color of his hair. “It’s very Americanized, but that’s okay. We are Americans, and you’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“This is as close to international travel as I’ve ever gotten,” I joke, noticing a small-dark haired woman chastising rowdy students just outside the tearoom doors. I’m guessing she must be the owner, and the scrawny white guy nodding at her side and rubbing her shoulder could very well be her husband.
