Page 96 of Muscle Cub

He posed, letting the wind move the sarong to great effect like he’d personally invoked the weather for this moment, but when he started back, a gust tore it from his neck. He shrieked, briefly losing his game face, but he managed to snatch the fabric before it fell into the water and danced back with it fluttering over his head like a flag.

Talk about cock of the walk. In my red shoes…

The crowd ate it up.

The applause declaring Austin the winner wasn’t even close. I almost felt sorry for Marcus, but Austin tied the corners of the sarong around Marcus’s neck like a cape and they took a victory lap around the entire pool together.

“Moving along to our daddies,” Jim announced pointedly. “Let’s have Smokey and Professor Paul!”

Hearing my name called, my heart started to race. Gunner nudged my shoulder, urging me forward.

As I left the shade of the cabana, Austin met me, glowing with the high of his performance.

I hugged him, and whispered in his ear, “How the fuck is anyone supposed to follow that?”

He pulled back and murmured against my lips, “Nobody better than you.” He kissed me hungrily as a wave of catcalls moved through the crowd.

“Are you trying to give me a visible boner?” I asked under my breath.

“You’re welcome.” Austin smiled mischievously.

“Austin, honey,” Jim said. “We need to borrow your man for a minute.”

His man. I liked the sound of that. Simple and more appropriate than boyfriend.

Smokey was waiting next to Jim in the same outfit he’d worn last night with a few notable exceptions—no jeans under his leather chaps and a painful-looking metal cock ring and ball stretcher highlighting his endowment.

All righty, then. Sure. Let’s compete with that.

Austin released me. “Go walk.”

“I’m not sure what to do with my arms,” I whispered.

“Don’t overthink it.”

Sure. No problem.

I walked.

I had no idea what song was playing. I saw people clapping and yelling, but I couldn’t hear anything but white noise. Maybe it was the wind in my ears, or negative ions from the approaching storm, or that one strong-ass Bloody Mary…

I might have left my body for a few moments.

I definitely couldn’t feel my arms at all, and I hoped whatever my face was doing passed for smiling.

I made it to the end of the pool and stopped. I recognized a lot of faces, even if I didn’t remember their names. Sweet guys who’d come up to say hello, who’d welcomed me at meals, who’d given me the bucks that had brought me to this moment. What was the word for the complicated, conflicted form of gratitude I experienced? Thanks?

I had to have been the most awkward contestant in the history of this event—like amateur mall fashion show bad—yet they cheered for me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Smokey making his way back to Jim, which meant it was half over, thank God.

How long had it been so far? The part of my brain that processed time had also gone offline.

You can do anything for sixty seconds.

When I turned, I saw Austin in front of the cabana waving pompoms, doing some kind of routine, and for a moment I thought maybe they were cheering for him.

We all wanted to believe we could meet someone out of our league who could see something in us we couldn’t see in ourselves and love us for it. Or love us in spite of what we couldn’t hide. Love us anyway.