Page 6 of Canned & Coated

That version is gone.

What’s walking toward us now is… a man.

No qualifiers. No gentle wording. No mental buffering system.

His arms hit me first. Bigger now. So defined that the black tank top he’s wearing look like it’s doing everything it can to hang on for dear life. His shoulders are broader, his posture looser but somehow more certain, like he finally grew into the space he always took up.

His hair isn’t buzzed anymore either. It’s grown out into dark curls that fall across his forehead in a messy, careless way that suggests he stopped trying to control it and was richly rewarded for that decision.

His face is sharper now. Cleaner lines. Cheekbones that catch so much light it feels aggressive.His skin’s darker, sun-worn from a life spent outside doing something physical, something real, something that built all of this without asking for permission.

Holy shit.

When did he get hot?

Which is a ridiculous thought, because I always thought he was hot. That was kind of the whole problem. But that was a me thing. A highly specific, deeply personal affliction I carried around while everyone else looked right past him.

Milo did not share that opinion.

I glance over at him, and the look on his face is immediate and undeniable, his whole expression slightly short-circuited. It’s obvious his brain is still trying to catch up to what his eyes are seeing.

Okay.

So that’s new.

“Oh my God,” Milo breathes. “You’re gonna leave me for him.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “No I’m not.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Milo says. He pauses, giving it genuine consideration, then nods once. “No. Actually, I support it.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Jesus Christ, I do. Please let me watch.”

“You have never thought he was hot.”

“Well,” he says, eyes still fixed ahead and making no attempt at discretion, “circumstances have evolved.”

Things have changed, and my body is filing that update straight to my brain with no review process whatsoever. Heart hammering, pulse thudding in my ears, jeans suddenly far less forgiving because the idea of Milo actually being into this is doing deeply inconvenient things to my cock.

Oh my God. What is happening.

We were supposed to show up, pitch the tent, and swallow every grudge we’d carefully preserved over Tanner’s disappearing act so we could maybe rebuild a lifelong friendship.

That was the plan, and it’s a normal, respectable plan.

I was not supposed to be trapped in a car, struggling for steady breaths while my brain starts generating scenarios I am wildly unprepared to examine.

My pulse beats in my throat while my body fully betrays me, responding with embarrassing enthusiasm to this new reality where Milo isn’t just fine with the idea, he seems actively intrigued by it.

The thought of that alone sends another sharp jolt through me.

I am not equipped for this version of the weekend.

Whatever Milo and I are both trying not to say has settled into this awful silence between us. Outside the car, Tanner glances at us, then away, then down at the ground, like he doesn’t quite know where to put himself while we sit here openly staring at him.

“We have to get out of the car,” Milo says.