Hot Pickle - J.J. Knight Page 0,32

not you have good chemistry. It’s hard to avoid feeling squishy about a hot naked dude in your living room. You basically control him. You tell him when to get naked, right? When he can cover up?”

“That’s how it works.”

“And he probably knows that if he doesn’t obey you, a bad tan can affect his score and his career.”

Well, hell. I hadn’t thought about it that way.

Sofia sips her drink. “Until you two figure out what’s what, you should stay professional. Classy. Now, if you want to bang him, then tell him. And get your clothes off, too.”

“Okay, okay.”

“When do you see him again?”

“Tomorrow night. We have one more base tan, then he’ll do his final round on Saturday before he competes.”

“Is there some rule about not having sex on competition day?”

“You watch too many old Barbara Streisand movies.”

“No! It’s a thing.”

“It is not a thing. Besides, we’re not having sex! He’s my client.”

My phone buzzes with a message. I glance down. It’s Max. My cheeks heat up.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Just confirming appointments.”

“You give that phone to me.”

I try to snatch it, but she’s too fast.

She holds it in front of her face and reads aloud. “I’ve got three flavors of pickles here and trying to decide which one you might like best tomorrow night. The sweet one? Let the sugar lie on your tongue?” Sofia looks up at me. “Girl, this is not a professional client conversation.”

“Give it back.”

She holds the phone away. “No. This is too good. Here’s what he says next. ‘Or should it be spicy, something that dances in your mouth?’” She gives me a squinty eye. “That’s some crazy shit, girl.” She looks at the phone again. “Holy crap. He says, ‘Or should it be one straight-up hot pickle?’”

She passes the phone back to me. “If someone was writing me messages like that, I would be all over it. You figure it out. You hear me?”

I look down at the message. Out of context, I can see how it looks. Like we’re already a thing. It’s suggestive, no matter how you slice it. But in the context of all the things we’ve said to each other, it fits. Max and I have developed a funny way of expressing our strange situation that belongs solely to us.

And I like it.

15

Max

I run late Thursday evening getting to Camryn’s. A million complications came up at the deli, and at the last minute Camryn texts me to bring my competition trunks.

So I have to swing by my house and pick them up.

I’m confused on that score. I thought she told me we needed an even base until the last day. But she’s the professional.

When I arrive at Camryn’s apartment, she’s dressed differently. She has the usual yoga pants on, this time in a cool sea green. But instead of a fitted yoga top, she wears a loose T-shirt, tied in a knot at the thighs like a big balloon of cotton.

I’m not sure what it means. I sent her several tentative messages feeling out our relationship beyond the tanning. She’s only responded in emojis, so I’m as clueless now as I was before.

Still, I’m here for a tan, not to ogle her.

“Hey, Max,” she says. “Did you bring the trunks?”

“I had to run home for them. Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s okay. You’re the last of the day, so it doesn’t matter if we run behind.”

I consider a suggestive remark about how we have all the time in the world, but something about her demeanor keeps me quiet. Has she changed her mind? Did she decide it wasn’t worth the trouble of poking her brother’s ire?

I head to the corner to change. “Should I go straight to the trunks?”

“Yes, please. That way I can see where your tan is landing.”

I step behind the screen. It’s a big deal that I’m getting dressed today. Or at least wearing something other than the modesty pouch. Maybe she needs to figure out if she has to fix that white patch or not. I shouldn’t be upset that I won’t be standing around with my dick hanging out.

But something seems off.

I undress and slide on the trunks. No need for a towel. This is exactly how I will go on stage in front of thousands of people in two days.

A shot of nerves bolts through me. I don’t have anything at stake here other than competitive pride, but I am nervous. Franklin will be at the amateur show, so I won’t have my best bud