Your Picture On My Phone (The Scar Series - Book One)

6 - Hard

Without acknowledging Conor at all, I faced the mountain mural and made my way toward the pool's edge.

"Ash, wait."

I couldn't stay any moment longer near him. Not with this painful tightness in my swimming trunks. Almost as if my body wanted to torture me for enjoying being so close to Conor.

Maybe I deserve the humiliation.

"Don't leave," said Conor, following me. As if I was a damn tourist guide, and my boner was the umbrella they always held aloft to be seen by even the slowest person in the group.

"Fuck off."

"Stay in the water."

I set my hands on the wet tiles and, with a strong push, lifted my body out of the water.

"Ash! There are people!"

I tried to abort by bending my arms to leverage myself back into the water. Instead, the waves my maneuver produced only helped me slip away, forcing my face to rush toward the tiles. At least my sudden death will end this martyrdom once and for all, I thought as I closed my eyes to face the never-ending darkness that would lie ahead once I smashed my head on the rock-hard coping.

When I hit the pool's edge, it felt softer than I had expected. Maybe it is not my time to die because of a boner. I opened my eyes and saw Conor's hand protecting my head like an airbag. But even though this accident was avoided, the bomb in my pants was still ticking. What was my body doing? First, the boner, now the slip-up. What is next? Hiccups? Uncontrollable weeping? Shitting my pants?

Full of rage, as this situation just got more frustrating, I gaped at the windows to see who was interfering with my attempts to escape. A couple—a bald guy in his thirties and his blonde girlfriend that looked like the human version of a doll—was gazing through the display window right at the mural, the basin, and us. Conor positioned himself before me, forcing me to look right at his face.

"Are you all right?"

I don't doubt that his intentions were honorable. He certainly wanted to cover anything too disturbing for the couple to spot. But him being this close didn't help at all. If anything, it made the twitching down there even worse.

"Leave me alone," I said and glared at the ceiling, crossing my arms in front of my chest. My head was spinning around. Why did this have to happen? Why on earth with Conor? Is this just because of our roughhousing? Or could it be that... No, that is not possible. I can't be attracted to him, can I? My eyes wandered around his face—Conor's wet hair hanging over his smooth forehead, his slender nose covering his almost flat, narrow lips, and his worried yet understanding eyes. Could I have feelings for Conor that I didn't want to face?

"Let's at least wait until they are gone," he suggested and arched his back like a cat.

I glared at the couple as they kept watching, talking, and pointing at us as if we were apes in a zoo. It almost felt like we were part of one of those animal shows that aired in the afternoon program of National Geographic.

"I had a boner three years ago at training camp," he confessed out of the blue, and, being put on display such as that, the whole conversation fell into a sense of forbidden territory.

"The one in Bradenton," he added and struck back, fixating his eyes on me as if this whole situation, the forbidden feeling, almost turned him on. I couldn't help but lock my eyes on his too. I didn't want to. But it felt like I was missing out on one of the most exciting things in my life if I turned away now.

"It was on the second day after that strenuous training in the rain. We all headed to the locker room, most of the others jumping right out of their clothes and into the showers. But unlike you, I could hide it. Just let myself fall behind."