End of the Line by Layla Cole

Author:Layla Cole
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: first time gay, apocalypse romance, gay friends to lovers, angst with happy ending, stranded together romance

Five

Remember how I said it was cold out here? I think when I heard him say skinny dipping, my brain might have short-circuited a little because that part of the equation doesn’t even register. Nope, just me and my dick saying hell yeah, and now we’re out on the little patch of sand behind the house, shivering, and Cory’s trying to convince me to get naked. Right now, the outlook doesn’t look so good.

“Not getting in the water unless you drag me.”

We haven’t even eaten yet. Cory brought the whole pizza out and I guess we’re going to have some kind of picnic on the beach or something. Preferably before I break down and jump in the water, ‘cause I’m starving. Focusing on the food might actually divert some blood to my brain, too. That would be nice.

“Didn’t say anything about the water yet. Just asking you to get a little more naked. I am,” he calls out over his shoulder.

The light of the nearly-full moon makes the bare skin of his back seem to glow. He has a towel spread out at his feet, a couple blankets in his arms, and the foil-wrapped pizza balanced against his chest, while I have nothing because Cory insisted he had it handled. Needless to say, I’m expecting disaster. What kind, I don’t know. Something.

What I get is Cory gracefully setting everything down without missing a beat, then shimmying out of his jeans until he stands there in nothing but his thin boxers clinging to his ass like they’re a size too small. His hands hook in the waistband, but he stops there, waiting for me, I guess. I have all my clothes on. Not very sexy, but possibly smarter. Besides, he should know how sand gets places it has no business being.

“Fine, we’ll just eat,” he says. “When you lose some more clothes. We’ll even keep our underwear on, okay?”

I make one last attempt to talk him out of it, resisting the urge to point out that we’d have to lose underwear for it to qualify as skinny dipping, but in the end my argument boils down to, “It’s cold, though.”

“So? You’ll have me to keep you warm.”

Now I don’t have any excuse, so I stand at the edge of the towel, facing him, and throw the hoodie off, then grab the hem of my shirt as if it’s all my idea, wishing it were a little darker so he couldn’t see me. Never took my shirt off in front of him, not back in the apartment, not back in Mexico. Which is stupid, really, ‘cause the damn scars aren’t gonna scare anyone off if they make it this far, especially not Cory.

With a deep breath and irritatingly clumsy hands, I tug my shirt over my head and toss it on top of the towel. Jeans come next, and those, weirdly enough, are a lot easier. I’m stopping there, though. For now. The wind’s blowing across my thighs and bringing up goosebumps, and my grey boxer-briefs don’t leave much to the imagination.

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