This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt on, but given I’m half-naked, it feels different. “Jesus,” I mumble, looking at the light dusting of chest hair over his pecs. I hadn’t noticed that before—how did I not notice that before? I want to rub my face on it. “No, only Henri,” he quips, and then grins as though waiting to see if I get the joke. My mouth is too dry to give more than a half-hearted chuckle, but it seems to please him because he starts pulling down his sweatpants. When he finishes undressing and is standing in front of me in his boxers, I don’t know whether to send
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