I glance myself over in the floor-length mirror, inspecting my profile to see how I look in the swimming trunks I’m wearing. I face forward, flexing my six-pack, appreciating the effort I made to lose a couple of pounds before our Puerto Vallarta vacation. It’s nice seeing the definition in my torso as well as some good bulk in my chest and biceps.

I run my hand through my dark-brown hair and then I hear, “Ooh, look who’s feeling conceited in that suit.”

Ty steps out of the changing room in a polka-dotted Speedo, surely noticing that I’m basically checking myself out in the mirror, something he’s done quite a few times since we got to the swimsuit designer’s boutique. We’ve been trying on different cuts and designs for close to half an hour, helping the designer, Julio, get an idea of the type of suit we want.

It’s kind of weird getting a designer swimsuit with Ty. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have half the clothes hanging in my closet, mainly because I’m not as interested in clothes shopping as he is.

“Whatever,” I say.

Ty comes up behind me and slaps my ass. “Looking good, looking good,” he teases.

I roll my eyes. “It’s kind of girly,” I say, assessing the bright fuchsia suit.

“The girlier you wear, the more masculine you look,” Ty explains. “Trust me, it’s a thing.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I say as he inspects his ass in the Speedo he has on. The sunlight entering through the bay window shimmers off Ty’s sandy-blond hair, which matches the bit of scruff he’s grown since we’ve been on vacation. With killer abs he’s never had an issue maintaining with a sit-up here or there, I don’t deny he looks hot in the suit.

“That’s always been a thing,” he insists. “If you wear something that looks very feminine, then the odds are people are going to think you must be super masculine to be trying to pull it off.”

“Or assume I want a dick in my mouth,” I add.

Not that it would be entirely untrue or that I haven’t felt that way about guys in my life, but I don’t need to wear a fucking banner to let the world know I get a little confused about all that from time to time.

“He might have a point there,” Julio says with a smile as he folds his arms. He stands off to the side, watching us try on the suits, seeming to enjoy the show.

Ty shakes his head. “Whatever. Julio, I’m not loving this. What else you got?”

Here we go…

We try on a few more before we each buy one. Then we head back to Ty’s dad’s condo.

It’s a few miles from Julio’s swimsuit boutique, so we take a cab. As we get in, Ty’s phone pings, and he checks it.

“It’s Mandy,” he says, a sparkle in his eyes.

Last night, we ran into some college-age kids who are here for a couple of weeks, same as us. They were a fun group to get hammered with. Ty hit on this girl named Mandy while I chatted up her friend Dana.

“Oh really?” I ask. “And what does Mandy want?”

“She and her friends are having a party tonight at the house they’re renting.”

“I’m game.”

“You’re game?” he asks. “What the fuck do you mean you’re game? You can’t tell me you don’t want to get all up on Dana. I saw the way you were hitting on her.”

“She was nice, but I think you were a little more into Mandy than I was into Dana.”

He rolls his eyes. “Seriously. You need to relax and get some.”

“I’m not looking for that. I just finished things with Whitney, so the last thing I need right now is to be chasing girls around.”

“That’s definitely not the last thing you need.”

I chuckle. “Okay, I get what you mean, but, Ty, I’m enjoying being single.”

“The whole point of being single is that you get to have sex with whoever you want.”

“I don’t want to hook up,” I tell Ty.

“Come on. It’ll be like our Georgia Tech days.”

“Even back then, I wasn’t having sex like you were. I was going on dates. You remember what those are? Like actually getting to know girls? The whole pickup scene isn’t my thing.”

“You are too hot for that.”

“It’s called making a connection. Actually giving a shit about a person.”

“Whatever. Sounds boring to me.” Although, I can tell by the expression on his face that he’s just giving me a hard time. “But promise me you’ll get some action while you’re here. I don’t want to believe you wasted AMEX points and came all the way here from Atlanta just so you can get skin cancer and maybe a bacterial infection from drinking the water.”

I laugh. “Shut the fuck up.”

When we get back to his dad’s condo, as we walk through the front door, I’m blown away by the designer furnishings, decor, and artwork. Every time we step in, I’m reminded suddenly I’m in a rich person’s place.

On the other side of the living area, two sliding glass doors lead onto a balcony overlooking the bay. It’s the sort of place I would never be able to have access to if it wasn’t for Ty and his bougie life because of his family.

Not that I do badly with my job, but that’s not how I grew up—I was bouncing around from foster family to foster family, none of whom had a place even comparable to this. And it’s definitely not like my apartment now, so it’s a stark change from what I’ve always been used to.

“That’s weird,” Ty says. “I thought we hit the lights before we left.”

I’m not sure if he’s right, but as we look around, I hear a sound coming from inside one of the guest bedrooms.

“Eric, that you?” Ty asks.

We approach the bedroom, and I hear the sound of running water, which stops abruptly. A moment passes before someone comes around the corner from the bathroom.

I’ve never met Ty’s dad before. They didn’t even meet until Ty was sixteen, and from what Ty’s told me, their relationship isn’t the best. In fact, I think the only reason his dad lets him hang here is to make up for how he wasn’t there for him when he was a kid.

The guy looks like he’s in his early forties. He has a cut body, decorated with a dark, navy-colored sleeve tat that runs up his arm and across his left pec. The design is elaborate, though I can’t make out what it’s of. Jet-black hair, a stark contrast to Ty’s sandy-blond locks, falls across his forehead as it drips with water, which runs down his face, through a half an inch or so of neatly-groomed scruff that covers his sharp jawline.

He wraps a towel around his waist as he heads toward us, and for a moment—too brief a moment—I get a glimpse of his massive cock.

Holy fuck.

I can’t deny the stiffening erection in my jeans. He’s a hot man. It’s rare that I meet a guy I get the hots for, but he’s definitely one who gets me going, and I feel guilty as fuck that it’s with my best friend’s father.