“You should wear shirts like that more often.”

I slid my gaze over to Mason, whose entire side was pressed against mine. I shouldn’t have been as surprised to see his eyes on my “shirt,” and by my shirt, I really meant my breasts. The tank top had begun to ride low enough so that the edge of my lavender bra was visible. Instead of replying, I frowned and tugged my shirt up enough so at least the girls weren’t hanging out so much… since half an inch of boobage was apparently too much to begin with.

When I met Mason’s gaze again he was smirking, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I can still see them.”

“No way.” I rolled my eyes, trying not to be too self-conscious. It wasn’t like I didn’t get the same reaction from him every time we saw each other over the last three years. Well, it was the same reaction from just about every guy that wasn’t my brothers or dad. I’d spent ten years of my life trying to keep people’s attentions away from my chest and now, after everything, I still didn’t want people looking there for longer than a quick glance.

Gordo nudged me from his spot on my other side. With hair so dark it was almost blue, a beard that was so thick and wiry it could pass as pubic hair and his naturally dark skin tone even tanner than normal, his face was one of the most familiar things in my life. “Are we going to be on the same team together?”

“The same team…?” And then I remembered what team he was talking about. “Hell, no.” No, no, no, no.

“Oh come on, Flabs,” Gordo insisted, his dark, nearly pupil-less eyes narrowing.

Mason, who was still leaning forward, rested his forearm on my knee. “You’re already trying to choose teams, asshole?”

“I’m not playing, so he can’t be trying to choose teams.” I made sure to look both of them in the eye so that they would know I wasn’t playing around. I wasn’t going to play ever again.

“You have to play,” the man whose real name was Luis Alberto claimed. “It’s our tradition.”

What it really was, was a yearly tradition of humiliation and physical pain. I shook my head at Gordo. “It’s not happening, Gordis.”

“You’re playing,” Mason reiterated, eyeing my boobs again in a gesture that was intentionally meant to annoy the shit out of me. Really, I didn’t think he liked my breasts that much, it wasn’t like I had a D cup size, much less the Double-D size he usually salivated over, but irritating me was definitely at the top of his list of things he enjoyed. “I need those puppies on my team.”

I smiled at him sweetly.

There was a time, immediately after my surgery, that I had really tried to get him to quit making comments about my chest. For about six months straight he’d revolved between calling me Hooters and Twin Peaks. In typical Mason fashion, me complaining only made him do it more often. So I stopped telling him anything because I knew he really he did it to get a rise out of me. Instead I just began handling it differently.

I reached under his arm to twist his nipple, an easy thing to do because he was shirtless. “I’m not playing and if I was, I definitely wouldn’t be playing on your team, jackass,” I said, turning the beady pink nip sharply as he leaned away with a grimace and an ugly “Nooooo!”

The words had barely left my mouth when the bus pulled into a brightly lit travel center with a gas station, twenty-four-hour restaurant and restroom facilities. Eli tossed me a towel before everyone except Mason, who had his arms crossed over his bare chest like that would protect him from me, piled out of the bus with our belongings and headed inside. It was then that I realized I’d forgotten to bring shampoo and soap with me from home. I groaned and peeked inside, realizing that if I went into the showers after I paid, I couldn’t come back out for free.