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“You can take your precious rules and shove them up?—”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Brody interrupted, his gaze locked on my midsection.

Not wanting to show too much skin in myRocky Horroroutfit, I’d decided to go for a Harley Quinn-inspired theme and had co-opted an old football jersey I had at home for the purpose. It was tied up to be tight, ripped in places, and yet still covered a whole lot more than Aisha’s corset did.

Torn fishnets, black jean shorts, and my usual boots made up the rest of my outfit. It was pretty tame compared to the rest of the girls, and yet Brody glared at me like I’d committed a crime. And he didn’t even know that there was a retractable blade in my boot.

“Clothes.”

“These are clothes for the movies? They’re a crime against fashion.”

Aisha giggled.

“They’re clothes forRocky Horror… kind of. I cheated, honestly, with the top, not that I’d expect you to care about that?—”

“Take it off then,” Brody interrupted.

“Wait, what?” I stared at him, surprised.

“Take that goddamn shirt off.”

I blinked at him. “Um, why?”

He was silent, and then his head cocked to the side. “Why do you even have it? Did you ask someone for it, when you have two men at home with hockey jerseys you could have borrowed?”

I glanced at Aisha, who simply raised an eyebrow at the exchange.

I turned back to Brody and put my hand on his shoulder. His energy was decidedly off.

“Are you okay? Did you get a puck to the head on the day you forgot your cage? Or is delusion a symptom of jet lag?”

“Hey! It’s our turn on the table,” Winter called to me from the pool area.

“Okay, I’m coming,” I called back and took a step away from Brody.

He watched me with narrowed eyes that I couldn’t read.

“You can have the drink,” I tossed to him and helped Aisha get down from the wobbly stool in her restrictive clothes.

“Let’s go.”

I’d never been great at pool, but playing with the girls, it didn’t matter. We joked around, laughed, and not a single one of us took things too seriously. The air felt electric, and it was because Brody was back. He was playing Asher, Cal, and Beckett at the table next to us. I could feel his eyes on me even when I wasn’t looking at them. Now and again, when I glanced over, Brody was playing like a pro. When he leaned over the table, his T-shirt rode up his arms, exposing the bulging muscles of his biceps, as well as his taut, veined forearms.

God, what was wrong with me? It had to be hormones.

Once Aisha had cleaned the floor with us(“What? It’s just math!”she’d insisted), we wandered over to watch the guys finish their game.

It was close. Asher and Cal against Beckett and Brody. At this point, it was basically a race to the pocket the eight ball.

Asher missed sinking it by less than an inch. Beckett slapped him on the back.

“Oh, well, good attempt, man. Good game.”

“You haven’t won yet,” Asher protested.

“Brody will sink it, won’t you,mate?” Beckett drawled. “This is something he’s actually good at.”

“That’s what they say about you and wanking, Anderson,” Brody tossed at him as he walked around the table to find the best angle for his shot.