Page 70 of Built To Perform

“Like you’d be paying any attention to the music if I was dancing,” Brayden teased.

His teammate reached over, to squeeze his thigh. Fingers lingering: the familiarity of friends who’d gone a lot further, together, than most friends ever explored.

There was a flare of something warm in my stomach, watching it. A little envy, yes, at their closeness, but overshadowed by a richer blend of affection and lust. It always felt good to watch my big bros together; to see them be tactile in casual, unabashed ways.

Brayden turned back to grin at me. “I’m sad I never got to see you perform, lil bro.” He side-eyed Jefferson. “Apparently you put on quite a show. Very... memorable.”

It was tricky to preen at the compliment, given what was memorable for Jefferson was also likely memorable for Coach and his boyfriend. Altogether it just made my teeth ache; I’d decided that my dancing days - professionally, anyway - were over.

That didn’t mean unofficial performances were off the table, mind.

Feeling awkward - though encouraged by the instant dip of Brayden’s eyes - I eased my hand along my thigh. Tracing the bare muscle up to the hem of my shorts, and then over the smooth, silky nylon. Until I was cradling the swell of my junk in my fingers’ loose grip, not squeezing so much as shaping the glistening white fabric around my bulge.

“Carlos taught you well, I heard,” Brayden said. No mistaking the burr that had crept into his voice.

“Are you taking about the dance lesson, or something else?” I grinned at him.

Brayden winked. “You know we all appreciate how open you are to trying new things, lil bro.”

Jefferson’s chuckle made clear he was listening. The fact that his hand had slipped further between his teammate’s thighs suggested listening wasn’t the only thing he had in mind.

I spread my legs wider, watching Brayden’s face. Focused - as I’d come to realize I was always paying attention to - on his reaction, on what his expression might reveal of the thoughts behind that beguiling smirk. Trying to gauge when my big bros wanted me to be serious and studious, or playful and silly, or something more sexual.

Right now, the look on Brayden’s face suggested he very much had the latter in mind.

My shirt had eased up, as I slid my hips forward on the bench seat. Exposing my stomach and the waist of the shorts where my thumbs dug under the elastic. Dragging it down, slowly but pointedly, to reveal the clinging waistband of the jock strap underneath.

“Let me guess,” Brayden drawled, amused. “Your roommate picked that outfit for you.”

I grinned back at him. “Adam knows the importance of good athletic support.”

That prompted a chuckle. “More like he gets off on smelling your sweaty jocks.”

“Maybe you can ask him about it on your date?” I suggested, sweetly innocent.

Jefferson’s laugh earned him a glare.

“I was hoping he’d forgotten about that,” Brayden admitted.

“Sorry.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “So distract me from my first-date stress, lil bro.”

Clear, from the way his gaze tracked down my body to the swell I was still cradling between my legs, that Brayden wasn’t talking about playing “I Spy.”

His smirk spread as I shifted my grip. Pulling the legs of the shorts up, bunching them in my fists, until the clinging straps of the jock underneath were peeking out. Hugging the curve of my ass, as I slumped further on the bench and gaped my legs wider.

“You look hot in that shirt,” Brayden suggested. “Uncomfortably hot, I think.”

The tangle of it hid my grin for a moment as I tugged it over my head. Aware of Brayden’s attention, yes, but of Jefferson’s eyes too. How they flit between the road ahead and the rearview mirror, as I stroked my hand down the ridges of my abs.

“Shorts, too,” Brayden told me.

I’d undressed in front of him so many times before, now. Been undressed by him as well; felt his hands - broad and strong - peel away my clothes, eager for bare flesh. There was something illicit about doing it in Jefferson’s truck, though; about stripping off while we cruised down the highway. Even with the tinted windows, the sense of exposure was so much greater.

Not that I could begrudge my big bros that. Not when I saw the heat in their gaze, as I spread my thighs again.

“Such a hot lil wrestling squad stud,” Brayden purred, admiringly. “Even on day one, I knew you were the whole fuckin’ package.”