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They’re definitely burritos. And his ass… firm and round, not quite a bubble butt but coming pretty close. Max has a confidence about him, and it’s clear from my view that his ass makes a great anchor for it.
I really try to find something else to focus on. But I don’t move away.
A few moments more and Max pulls back the curtain. “You want to know about Marcus, but first—what do you think?”
The first choice is an ecru linen jacket and pants with a white shirt, untucked and unbuttoned just enough to wonder what his bare chest looks like. Because from here it looks pretty good.
Almost as good as the back.
I appraise with pursed lips. “Every man at the wedding will be wearing the same colour,” I decide.
“You picked it out,” Max accuses with a laugh.
“I didn’t know if you wanted to look like every other man at the wedding.”
His chin juts up. “I prefer to take advantage of my uniqueness,” he says in a lofty voice.
“And how are you unique?” I ask, trying to keep my mind away from the burritos on his briefs.
“I just am,” he sings before disappearing back behind the curtain.
I stay where I am.
Yes, I peek, because Max does an even worse job of closing the heavy fabric this time.
I’ve never been preoccupied with the male physique. I can admit that some men have very nice bodies—Chris Hemsworth and Jason Mamoa would be good examples of two I might be preoccupied with if I was ever able to peek at them in the changing room.
A lot of the men I’ve seen don’t have good bodies, and while I don’t hold it against them, it makes me less likely to go around and sneak a peek.
But Max is right there… and now he’s only wearing a pair of loose-fitting pants. Shirtless.
I can’t see his chest at this angle but his back— Muscular. Broader than I expected, tapering to narrow hips.
There is not a love handle in sight. Just a expanse of skin… tanned. Nice looking skin.
Nice looking body.
If I move just a bit to the right—
“Cady?”
I jump two feet to the left. “Yes?”
Max drops his voice. “Are you spying on me?”
I press a hand against my chest, trying to still my heartbeat. “No! Of course not.”
“Are you sure?” The way he asks doesn’t make me think he considers it a bad thing. And that’s the only reason I move back to my original spot.
“Of course I’m sure.”
“Because I can see you.” Max turns pirouette-fast to face the crack between the curtain and the wall.
Facing me. “Which means you can see me.”
Instead of ducking out of sight, I hold my ground, feeling the heat rise to my face as I wish for the floor to open and swallow me up.
The saying Never let them see you cry works as well with Never let them see you blush.
