This isn't weird.

No Way Around It

 "That is a serious problem," Ben said, craning his head as if it might somehow allow him to see through the solid wall of rain. "Is there even a bathroom or anything around here?"

"There is, there's a little rest stop right before the beginning of the trail. There's just... a hundred yards of straight up waterfall between here and there. Fuck! I always keep an emergency umbrella in my car, but I forgot it at work last week when it was supposed to rain and didn't."

"Your faith in meteorologists is god damn adorable," Ben said with a chuckle.

"Shut up!" Millie said, reaching back to punch his arm. "Okay, okay, what do I have with me? Ugh, nothing remotely waterproof. Fucking rookie mistake. I do have some towels... why the hell did I not bring a change of clothes?"

"Get it together, Millie," he interjected.

She exhaled in exasperation. "Okay, okay. There's no way around it. I know what I have to do."

"What? Oh—oh."

Millie grabbed the edge of her tank top and pulled it over her head, then unbuttoned her shorts, laid back, and lifted her hips to wriggle out of them. Her sports bra was emerald green, a halterback with a neckline that was more plunging than practical, though her black cotton panties were relatively modest in comparison. Ben exerted a great deal of willpower forcing himself to look away—or at least, to look only peripherally. There was so much pale, smooth skin, just begging to be looked at, to be touched—

She has to know what she's doing, he thought.

"Well... wish me luck!" She opened the car door, slamming it behind her before darting off into the rain.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ben cursed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he tried to ignore the heat rising in his body. Did she know what she was doing? He would have expected the revelation of his heterosexuality to make her less comfortable undressing in front of him. Maybe she wanted him to be hot and bothered.

Or maybe she was being purely pragmatic, and trusted him not to be a fucking creep.

It was suddenly impossible to think straight. He was high and libidinous and acutely aware that he would be trapped in this car with her for god knows how many more hours. His mind was filled with wonderfully vivid images of all the ways they could pass those hours together in her backseat—

And then, images of how horrifically uncomfortable those hours would be if his advances were unwanted. Their friendship would never recover from an experience like that. No, he couldn't be the one to make the first move. Not here, not like this. He had to control himself. "How the fuck am I going to make it through this?" he groaned, though he already knew the answer. He took a deep breath and repeated Millie's words to himself. "No way around it."

Ben kicked off his shoes, stripped down to his boxers, and let himself out of the car. He stood there for a moment, adjusting to the shock of the rainfall pelting his body, then followed in the direction Millie had rushed to until he came to the tiny log building that housed the restrooms. The men's room couldn't be more obviously deserted, but he still knocked awkwardly before letting himself inside. He looked around guiltily before leaning back against the door. Closing his eyes, he pictured the way Millie had arched her back as she slipped out of her shorts, the sharp contrast between the deep green of her bra and the soft, white curves of her cleavage.

"I fucking hate myself," he muttered before sliding a hand into his boxers.

A few minutes later, Ben stepped back outside, shoulders slumped with equal parts relief and shame. Millie was standing a few yards away, her back toward him and her head tilted back as if she were staring at the sky. She seemed unaware of his presence.