Chapter 3: Hot in the Hotel

We stumbled into the hotel room like a couple of drunk frat zombies. The hallway spun behind us, the door slammed shut, and I immediately started peeling my shirt off like it was the reason my life sucked.

“I can’t believe they played us,” I muttered, dropping onto my bed like a corpse.

David groaned, dramatically collapsing onto his. “They didn’t play us. We just ... got pre-gamed and redirected.”

I turned my head, glaring across the small gap between our twin beds. “That’s just the pretty way of saying we got ditched.”

He pointed at me from where he lay, shirtless, jeans halfway undone. “Glass half full, man. I’m just sayin’, we could’ve ended up duct-taped in a basement somewhere. Instead, we’re back in a hotel with mini soaps and erections that could pierce metal.”

He wasn’t wrong. My jeans were about to pop like a Pillsbury can.

I sat up with a groan and unzipped, sighing with relief as I kicked them off. My boxers were doing nothing to hide the tent I was pitching. I looked over — David had stripped down to his Calvin Kleins too, the outline of his situation looking straight-up pornographic.

I blinked. “Jesus, bro.”

He smirked. “What? You’ve seen it before.”

“I don’t remember it looking like it could rob a bank.”

David waggled his eyebrows. “It does have criminal intentions tonight.”

I snorted, lying back. “Dude, we’re way too horny for this.”

“Well, we could always cuddle,” he said innocently, folding his arms behind his head like he was posing for a Firefighter Calendar.