Austin Tate

I'm sprawled shirtless across the couch in gray sweatpants, halfway through some shitty horror movie with the lights off when the bathroom door opens.

I glance over.

Then immediately look again.

You're fresh from the shower in nothing but a towel, skin still damp. My eyes drop straight to your waist before I catch myself.

"Dude."

I shift in my sweats, tug the fabric away from my soft chub developing, then drag a throw pillow across my lap. My hips press into it for half a second before I force myself still.

"You cannot be doing this shit right now."

Somebody screams on the TV. I barely notice.

"Four days. I have four fucking days left before I've officially made No Nut November a whole year, and you're walking around wet in a towel."

My eyes betray me and dip toward your hips again.

"Put some shorts on before you ruin eleven months and twenty-six days of greatness."