Chapter 10

Penn

I'd wanted to join in with Madden's family night last night, but I gave him his space. If he wanted me there, he would have invited me, so I took myself out instead. I'd planned to find a quick hookup and head home, but even before I'd arrived at the club, the vibe of the night felt off.

I danced for a while but ended up leaving sober and heading home alone.

My head has been all over the place lately, and it feels like the only time I'm not overthinking is when I'm buried in my work.

But I don't want to spend the entire weekend working, so I break on Saturday morning and send Madden a message. It's been a while since I reached out first because I know he has other people in his life, but I really need to see him today. It happens sometimes. That urge to be around him. Madden is one of those guys where, when they're around, everything is perfect.

Since it's a hot day, I suggest we go to Howell Beach. It's one of Madden's favorite places because while he legally can be nude anywhere he wants, he's still borderline uncomfortable stripping off in public. Howell Beach being clothing optional gives him the freedom to be himself without facing judgy looks.

And since nearly everyone is naked there, I usually strip off too.

It wasn't easy the first few times we went, and Madden made it clear there was no pressure from him or anyone else, but it was all my hang-ups. No one was looking at me, but it felt like everyone was, and it was nearly impossible to get out of my own head.

I pick Madden up from the Bertha house, and as I watch him jog across the front lawn, towel thrown over his shoulder and golden hair out in loose waves with his Mariners cap pulled down over them, somehow, that feeling of loneliness that's lodged behind my ribs deepens.

Is it possible to miss someone more when you're with them? It's fucking ridiculous.

"Penelope," Madden says, climbing into the car.

"Madeline."

I get a burst of his fruity bath wash as soon as he closes the door behind him. It's familiar, and I love it. He's not quite bouncing in his seat, but there's energy rolling off him that's giving the impression of a preteen at his first concert.

"Geez, it hasn't been that long since we went to Howell."

"At least two months," he replies automatically.

"You counted?"

He shakes his head, hair swaying. "Nah, but I remember the last time was just after I got a bee sting right next to my balls and was all worried about people thinking the swollen spot was some kind of STD. That was early spring. "

"And you can't figure out why I insist that you wear clothes when you work."

Madden switches the radio over to his favorite rock station. "You're conditioned to think that way. Don't worry, I don't judge. One day, you'll see my side of things."

"Or maybe it's an issue of safety and not wanting to see you get hurt."

"I'd believe that if you didn't hit me with your car that one time."

My mouth drops that he'd even bring that up. "That was an accident."

"I do think that's what they call car crashes, yes."

"It wasn't a crash."

"But it was an accident."

"I barely bumped you." That asshole. We were nineteen and had been drinking in the woods on a weekend at college. Madden was standing in front of the car with some guy he liked, and I was making out in the front seat with my hookup. We knocked the handbrake button, and the car rolled forward enough to shove Madden off his feet.

He ended up with a bruised thigh that he didn't let me hear the end of for weeks, until I confessed that I felt like complete shit over what happened—not to mention how I would have felt if it was any worse. The thought of losing Madden and it being because of something I did? God, that makes me sick.

"Still got the battle scars," he sighs dramatically.

My gaze immediately flicks to his bare—scarless—thigh. "You're going to make me feel bad again."

"Just pointing out that you can't claim being protective of me when you'll voluntarily run over me with your car."

I don't bother answering. Madden's in a playful mood, and I love it when he gets like this. He's singing along to whatever the fuck this song is, and even though it hurts my ears, I lean over and turn it up .

He's banging his head and pretending to play air guitar, completely living in the moment, and it's like a pure burst of sunshine in my chest.

We pull up in the parking lot, and I wait for the song to end before switching off the engine. Then I take a deep breath and pull my shirt over my head. I'm trying not to think about being naked too deeply since it's weirder to be fully clothed here than anything, but Madden's right that I've been conditioned to think this way.

The thing is, I don't really know any other way to think. I don't know that I'd want to think any other way.

I shed my shorts and underwear, trying not to let that unsettling anxiety take over.

The only reason I'm comfortable being naked here is because I have Madden with me, and he's talked me through it.

We climb out of the car, and I grab the lunch pack I bought from that place Madden likes, he grabs my towel, and then we walk down into the park. It's smaller than some of the other nudist beaches in Seattle, but it's got good tree coverage, and the atmosphere is a lot more relaxed.

We find a free area on the grass, where Madden lays out our towels, and we sit down facing the water.

"Fuck, this is nice," he says, stretching his long arms over his head. He's more muscular than I am, and I miss the days of being built like him, but I don't miss the endless workouts and training. "Don't you feel that peace from being outside and uninhibited?"

"Mostly, I'm worried about an ant crawling into my ass crack."

"Eh, that could happen even if you're wearing clothes."

"The odds are greatly reduced though." I'm struggling not to laugh. I love that he has this new outlook on life that makes him happy, but I don't think the free-love, naked hippy thing is for me.

While Madden goes over the health benefits of letting your skin breathe, I pull out our sandwiches and hand Madden his. No matter what he's talking about, I like listening to his voice. It's deep and smooth, rich with life, and I let it flow over me as I reach over and tug the pickles from his sandwich.

Madden replaces his pickles with my tomato, and we eat in silence, shoulder to shoulder, watching the soft waves bob on the water.

"You know," Madden says, "I might have glimpsed some of your date with Lana yesterday."

"Do we have to talk about her?"

"Of course not. I just wanted to say it looked like you were having fun."

"We were."

"Right." He's trying to smile, but his eyebrows aren't cooperating. "And I want that."

"Then why do you sound like you're chewing glass?"

Madden flicks me a cheeky look. "It's weird. You dating. I don't think you've done that since we moved here."

"Well, neither have you."

"Yeah, but I'm good with where I'm at."

"Who says I'm not?" The need to be defensive takes over before I can think through the words.

"Ah, you? The other night."

He's got me there.

"And in the interest of helping," he continues, "I've cast my net wide."

"Your … net?"

"Yup." Madden's blue eyes are shining proudly as he turns to me. "I've got some dates lined up for you."

It takes me way too long to understand what he's saying. "You've got dates for me? "

"Yes. Since things with Lana didn't hit right off, I reached out to a few people." He elbows me. "Told them what a hottie you are. How you give the best massages, have your own place, are a bit of a neat freak?—"

"I'm not a neat freak."

"You installed hooks by your door so I could hang up my clothes instead of setting them—folded, by the way—on your coffee table."

Shit. He has a point. "Fine. I'm a little bit neat."

"Uh-huh." Madden pats me condescendingly on the thigh, sending a zap into my gut.

I flinch away from his touch, and it catches us both off guard.

He turns to me, eyebrows at his hairline. "You okay, dude?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Thought I saw a bee."

He obviously doesn't believe me, but what am I supposed to say? I wasn't expecting you to touch me, and when you did, because I'm naked, my body got you mixed up with a woman?

No, thank you.

"Wanna go for a swim?" I blurt to take the scrutiny away. The beach isn't a great one; barely anyone swims here, but there's water, and if we ignore all the algae, there's nothing to worry about.

"Sure." There's still suspicion in his voice, but he follows me over the sand and out into the water.

It's a hot day, and the water feels fucking amazing, so it's easy enough to push our conversation to the back of my mind. Dates? No, thank you. But I can deal with that later. All I want right now is to dunk my best friend until he can't breathe and then have him return the favor.

No drama. No overthinking. Just him and me, being completely us.

He gets me first though.

Arms close around my waist, and I'm dragged under from behind. The water flows over my face, dulling the sounds from shore, and even though Madden lets go almost instantly, I still get that brush of skin on skin.

Of his chest skimming my back, his thighs brushing my ass, and his … well, in the water, there's no controlling that thing, and I swear his dick grazes my lower back.

I've seen it a million times, but I've never actually touched it.

Apparently, my body is way past confused at this point because it's enough to send blood to my cock. The whole thing freaks me the fuck out.

Sure, it's not a full-fledged boner, but even getting a semi over my best friend's dick is out of left field.

I break the surface and hurry to put distance between us.

"Maybe. Let's just. Relax," I manage between deep breaths.

There Madden goes looking confused again, but so the fuck am I.

My one saving grace is that we're in the water, so he can't see my super-inappropriate reaction to him.

Maybe I need to rethink his date idea.