Page 35 of Try Me

Chet snorted and whisperedapexunder his breath, but a second later, I heard the marker moving.

We finished my shape without incidence and compared it to the picture afterward, a series of circles and intersecting triangles.

“Not bad,” Chet said, and then we switched. “Okay, draw a test tube shape at about a thirty degree angle on the page with the open end facing the bottom left of the page,but”—he interjected when he heard the marker—“where the opening of the test tube would be, don’t draw a line. Just leave it open.”

“Okay,” I said haltingly and made the shape.

“Now. At the bottom right of the test tube mouth, draw a half circle at the same angle.”

“You’re being very specific.” I drew the half circle, then rapped the marker against the page expectantly.

“That’s how I get what I want.” The low, suggestive timbre of Chet’s voice made me glad our backs were turned to each other. Especially when my cock gave a defiant and untimely twitch.Focus.“Now, draw another half circle coming off the bottom left of the test tube, and join the half circles.”

I’d just started the arc when I caught on and tossed the pad down. “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you twelve?”

I was drawing a dick.

Chet’s shoulders shook against mine, and he lolled his head back against my shoulder as he dropped the card in my lap. “It’s a rocket.”

“That’s not how you tell someone to draw a fucking rocket.”

He twisted around, resting his chin on my shoulder as he looked down at my paper. The gesture was strangely intimate and disturbingly comfortable.

“Looks like a rocket to me. Or…” The pressure of his chin vanished, and then he was in front of me, extending a hand to help me off the ground. “Kinda reminds me of something else. Hmmmm.” He tapped a finger against his lips. “Something recent. Something that was digging into my thigh the other—”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He flashed me an annoyingly cavalier wink before turning and heading down the path toward our next activity.

We paused for boxed lunches in a big pavilion scattered with picnic tables.

“How long did it take you to do the rope square thing?” Liza asked between bites of orange wedges. Barrett walked from table to table delivering more drinks and napkins.

“Twelve minutes because jackass over here started us on the left side instead of the right like we were supposed to,” Chet said. “You?”

“Six.”

Chet shot me a glare. “I told you we were taking too long.”

I shrugged. Wasn’t my fault the instructions had been too vague.

“Need anything else, Mr. Pynchon?” Barrett all but fluttered his lashes at Chet while ignoring the rest of us. That was interesting. I’d been certain Barrett was Team Mark.

“Do you have any more of those blue Gatorades?” I asked.

Barrett shot an annoyed look my way.Veryinteresting. “Nope.”

Chet held up a finger. “Barrett, do you have any more of those blue Gatorades?”

Barrett smiled sweetly. “Why yes, I sure do. Does your partner need extra napkins for a bib, or has he mastered table manners?”

Liza, Houston, and Chet cracked up as I gawped, trying and fucking failing to parry the verbal spar.

Chet nudged me with a grin as Barrett walked off. “You always sucked at rebounds.”

“No, I really didn’t.”

Houston pointed the corner of his sandwich at us. “So you two grew up together?”