Chapter 1
I hated Jessy Delgado.
Not in a cute, frenemies, “oops we kissed once at a party” way. No. I hated him like you hate slow WiFi during finals week. Like you hate someone who always wins—because he’s hotter, louder, smoother—and never lets you forget it.
We were broke college boys living off caffeine, instant noodles, and our own inflated egos. Jessy was everything I wasn’t: tall, bronzed, sculpted like some goddamn Instagram thirst trap. He played intramural soccer shirtless just to piss me off. He walked around our shared gym like he owned the place. His towel never quite covered enough. His eyes always lingered too long. Or maybe mine did. I wasn’t about to dissect that.
The Wednesday gym session was brutal. I’d just barely benched my weight before flopping into the communal showers, my muscles sore and my temper frayed. The hot water hit my back like fire, steam curling around me. I just wanted to cool off. Wash away the day.
Then, of course, I heard him.
“Didn’t know they let toddlers in the weight room now.”
I didn’t even turn. I knew that smug voice.
Jessy.
My jaw clenched. “Didn’t know assholes could speak with shampoo in their mouths.”
He let out that laugh—low, cocky, almost lazy. “Oh, that’s cute, Brady. You practicing your comebacks in the mirror again?”
I turned this time. I shouldn’t have.
He was two stalls over, completely naked, wet hair plastered to his forehead, water cascading over his chest. And what a chest. His pecs were broad and defined, his abs glistening like they were lit for porn. And there, between his legs—Jesus. I looked too long. I know I did. But he was already smirking, like he’d caught me.
“You checking me out, bro?”
“Please,” I snorted. “I’ve seen better on anatomy mannequins.”
He stepped closer, casually, like he wasn’t bare-ass naked in a room full of guys. “Funny. You were staring like I was the first dick you’d ever seen.”
I squared up. “You wanna go, Delgado?”
“Oh, I really wanna go.”
Before I could process the double meaning, he shoved me. Not hard, just enough. My feet slipped on the wet tile. I crashed into him and suddenly our bodies were colliding—wet, slick, bare skin on bare skin. My chest against his. His thigh grazing mine. His hands grabbing my waist to steady us, but not before we tumbled together into the center of the shower area.
The guys around us whooped like it was Friday night Fight Club.
I pushed off him, furious. My cock was swinging. So was his. But that wasn’t what had me breathless. It was the heat. The contact. His skin was hot and taut against mine, and the press of our bodies had felt—God—good.
“You're so full of yourself,” I hissed, shoving him again.
Jessy growled, grinning like a devil. “Maybe if you touched yourself more, you’d be less tense.”
“You want tense?” I lunged.
We locked together again. Limbs tangled, feet slipping. My arm wrapped around his neck. His thigh forced between mine. We grunted, cursed, slipped, and crashed. Our naked bodies slid across the tiles, chests smacking, stomachs pressing, hips clashing. It wasn’t just a fight—it was a full-contact collision of tension and something darker. Something hotter.
We rolled. At one point, I was on top of him, straddling his hips. My wet ass ground into his pelvis. His hands dug into my sides. There was something primal about it—something that buzzed just under the surface.
“Get off me, you perv,” he panted.
“Then stop touching my ass!”
“You’re the one grinding like it’s prom night!”
I pushed off, slipping again, and suddenly we were stumbling backwards out of the showers, bodies still locked in combat. Neither of us realized what was happening. Not until the air got colder. Not until the echoes changed.
Not until we heard the gasps.
We’d wrestled our way into the corridor.
Still naked.
Still wet.
Still holding onto each other like lovers in a steamy soap opera.
Time froze.
The hallway was full. Students were everywhere—girls, guys, professors, the stoner from my econ class—staring, laughing, filming. A few wolf-whistled. Someone shouted, “Daaaamn! Who needs OnlyFans?!”
Jessy let go of me like I was radioactive.
I stumbled back, covering myself with both hands, but there was no saving it. My dick had flopped around like a drunk eel mid-fight. And now it was getting suspiciously half-hard.
“Fuck,” I muttered, flushed to my ears.
Jessy was beet red too, his chest heaving, arms crossed over his junk, eyes wide. For the first time ever, he wasn’t smirking.
“Why are they still filming?” he whispered harshly.
“Because we’re naked. Fighting. In public,” I snapped.
“They saw everything, dude.”
“No shit!”
“Your ass was in my face!”
“Your dick hit my thigh!”
The humiliation rolled over me like a tidal wave. I felt seen in the worst way—every inch of me. I wasn’t just nude. I was exposed. My rivalry with Jessy, my secret obsession with hating his perfect body, the weird charge I felt whenever we fought—all of it had been laid bare.
And people were loving it.
I looked over at Jessy. His eyes met mine. There was panic there. And something else. A flicker of understanding. We both knew: this had gone way too far.
“BRADY! JESSY!”
We turned in sync.
Coach Danvers and Professor Wright were pushing through the crowd, both looking like they wanted to murder us. Danvers had his whistle clenched between his teeth like he was preparing for war.
“You morons want to explain why your bare asses are causing a riot in my hallway?!”
“He started it!” we shouted together, then turned to glare at each other.
“He called me a porn star!”
“He said I shower like a virgin!”
“You were grinding on me!”
“You were moaning!”
Danvers threw up his hands. “ENOUGH. You want to act like naked gorillas? Fine. You can march that way to the principal’s office.”
“We can get dressed first, right?” Jessy asked, hope clinging to his voice.
Wright just smiled coldly. “Nope. You want to fight naked? You walk naked.”
My heart sank.
“You can’t be serious,” I said.
Danvers stepped between us and started marching us down the hall like prisoners of war. “Oh, I’m dead serious. You two wanted to be the center of attention? Congrats. You’re stars now.”
The parade began.
We were marched, bare-assed, through the main corridor of the college. Phones were out. Whispers followed us. Some cheers. Some very loud commentary.
“Nice dick, Brady!”
“Jessy’s got a bubble butt!”
“This is better than Netflix!”
I tried to cover myself again, but Jessy kept elbowing me, and I kept tripping, and somehow our bodies kept brushing—hip to hip, shoulder to chest. I was hyper-aware of every drop of water trickling down my stomach. Of the way Jessy’s biceps tensed when he clenched his fists. Of the heat still radiating from his body.
He looked over at me, eyes blazing. “This is all your fault.”
“You shoved me first,” I snapped.
“Yeah, well... you moaned.”
“I what?!”
“You made a little sound when I had you pinned. Like you liked it.”
“I—shut up.”
We reached the office door.
I had never felt so exposed. So furious. So painfully, unbelievably hard and confused inside. Not from being naked. Not just from being humiliated. But from something else.
From him.
Professor Wright opened the door and gestured inside.
“In you go, gentlemen.”
We stepped forward, dripping, humiliated, still naked... still fighting.
But something had shifted.
And we both knew it.
Chapter 2
The door creaked shut behind us with an ominous click.
Principal Barry Claremont leaned back in his chair with his ankles crossed on his desk, munching from a bowl of trail mix like we weren’t standing naked in his office like two soggy contestants on a very confusing reality show.
He was in his sixties, wore novelty ties with cartoon cats, and had a framed photo of himself high-fiving a llama behind his desk. A true legend of administrative chaos.
“So,” he said, popping a raisin into his mouth, “you two decided to start an OnlyFans live stream in the middle of my hallway.”
Jessy groaned. “Sir, it wasn’t like that—”
“Oh, no?” Claremont cut him off. “Because what I saw was two very naked, very oiled-up young men engaged in a homoerotic Greco-Roman shower match while the student body cheered like it was the Super Bowl.”
“It wasn’t oiled-up!” I hissed. “It was just water!”
“Please, Brady,” Claremont said, waving a peanut in the air. “I’ve seen less steam in a Turkish bath.”
Jessy and I stood there, dripping onto the hardwood floor, arms awkwardly crossed over our junk. My cheeks were still hot. So were other parts of me. Jessy kept glancing at the window like he was planning an escape. I didn’t blame him. There was something deeply humiliating about being lectured by a man with a Spongebob stress ball while your dick’s trying to shrink into your pelvis from embarrassment.
“I’m tired of this,” Claremont said, sitting upright with surprising energy. “You two have been at each other’s throats since freshman year. The library incident. The dining hall pie fight. The debate club microphone sabotage…”
“That was him!” Jessy pointed at me.
Claremont ignored him. “And now you’ve taken it to public nudity? What’s next? Naked tug-of-war in the quad?”
“No,” I muttered. “Definitely not.”
Jessy nodded solemnly. “No tugging, sir.”
“Enough.” Claremont stood and walked around the desk, arms folded like a drama teacher mid-monologue. “Clearly, punishment hasn’t worked. Detentions? Useless. Probation? You made it a joke. So I’ve come to a decision.”
Jessy and I leaned in.
“I’m reassigning your housing,” Claremont announced, smiling like Oprah about to hand out cars. “You two are now roommates.”
Dead silence.
Jessy looked at me, horrified. “What?”
I pointed at him. “No. Absolutely not. He—he leaves beard trimmings in the sink! I’ve seen his room. It’s like a gym sock exploded!”
“I am NOT rooming with this psycho!” Jessy shouted. “He listens to motivational podcasts at 6 a.m.! He eats boiled eggs in bed!”
“Better than your post-sex protein shakes that smell like ass!”
“You’re just jealous I get laid!”
“Jealous?! Of what? Your moisturizer shelf?!”
Claremont raised a hand. “Boys. Boys. Please save the lover’s quarrel for the bedroom.”
We both snapped our mouths shut.
Claremont grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Maybe if you live together, you’ll develop... empathy. Respect. Or kill each other. Either way, I win.”
“Sir, this is cruel and unusual punishment,” Jessy pleaded.
“You’re making us shower-fight and then shack up like a bad porno!” I added.
Claremont walked back to his desk. “If you don’t want to room together, there’s always expulsion. Or you can go shower, get dressed, and move your adorable hate-boners into Room 308 by tonight.”
Jessy and I locked eyes.
Hatred. Rage. Panic. Possibly mutual panic boners.
“…Fine,” we muttered in unison.
Claremont beamed. “Excellent! Oh, and for continuity, go back to the showers naked. Might as well finish the performance.”
Jessy groaned like someone had kicked him in the dignity.
“God, kill me now,” I whispered.
“Too late,” Claremont said. “Your reputations are already dead.”
We stepped into the hallway again, the same long corridor of shame, still completely bare.
Phones were still out.
“Back for round two?” someone called.
“Did you forget your lube?”
“Hey Brady, nice cheeks!”
Jessy muttered, “I swear, I’m gonna tattoo my junk just to distract people from my face.”
“Too bad your junk’s already distracting,” I shot back.
“Yeah? Well your ass jiggles when you walk.”
“I do squats, thank you very much.”
We passed a group of girls from the art department. One of them whispered, “Ten bucks says they’re secretly in love.”
“Oh, it’s not secret,” another replied.
I glared at Jessy. “This is all your fault.”
“Me? You were the one moaning in the shower like you’d just discovered soap.”
I elbowed him.
He elbowed me back—right in the hip. Our bodies touched, skin sliding briefly. His side was warm against mine. Way too warm. My stomach twisted. My thoughts turned inappropriate fast, but I shoved them down.
Back at the locker room, we made a beeline for our stuff. No more eye contact. No more talking.
Jessy grabbed his towel and wiped his hair roughly, muscles flexing with every movement. I tried not to look. I failed.
I turned to grab my underwear when I heard him behind me.
“You better sleep with one eye open tonight,” Jessy muttered in my ear, low and growling.
I spun around, half dressed. “Excuse me?”
He leaned in, towel slung over his shoulder, his naked body inches from mine. His voice dropped even lower. “Because when I pin you down in bed... I won’t let you up.”
My brain broke.
“Wh-what?” I choked.
He smirked. “I said I’m going to strangle you with a pillow. What did you think I meant?”
My mouth opened and closed like a fish. Heat bloomed up my neck.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, half horrified, half... aroused? No. No. No.
Jessy laughed, pulling on a pair of briefs slowly, like a goddamn Chippendale. “You’re blushing, Brady. Cute.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“You’re hard.”
“I’M NOT—”
He looked down. I yanked up my boxers.
Jessy grinned. “This is gonna be so much fun.”
“Room 308,” I muttered. “May it burn to the ground.”
“Oh, we’ll burn something,” Jessy said.
And with that, our half-naked truce was over.
We had to move in together.
And somehow... I had the feeling things were only just heating up.
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