Chapter 43: Getting toyed with

After finishing the heavy lifting, the men, overheated, stripped off their shirts. Only Ray remained in his full combat uniform. Mitch, Ace, and the newly returned Jack sat bare-chested in a rough circle. Several flashlights propped on empty cans cast upward beams of yellow light that carved their rough features into sharp, deep relief.

May sat cross-legged beside Ray, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes not nearly enough for the view.

Damn, they were ridiculously good-looking.

To her left was Ray. Even fully clothed, the dark combat uniform stretched tight across his frame. The two solid slabs of muscle at his chest pushed the fabric into hard, clean arcs; every breath carried a quiet pressure.

Across from her sat Mitch—lean and powerful like a leopard. Eight neat rows of abs, veins winding along his forearms. He was biting into a stick of ham sausage, glaring at her with fierce eyes while the tips of his ears still burned red.

To her right was Ace, white shirt unbuttoned three buttons down, revealing pale collarbones and the faint outline of chest muscle. He half-lowered his eyes, wine glass held in long, white fingers, and smiled at her with a gaze so sticky it felt ready to peel her skin off.

In the corner, Jack’s bronze muscles rose in heavy ridges like a small mountain. His face stayed flushed; he didn’t dare look her way.

This lineup, these bodies—before the end of the world, every single one of them would have been a top-tier male model or exclusive technician. Now they’re all orbiting me. Jackpot!

"What are you staring at? Finished drinking?"

Ray’s low voice sounded right beside her ear. One arm braced on the ground behind her, body angled slightly forward so that half her view was blocked.

May pulled her gaze back, grinned, and picked up a can of yellow peaches. She bit the lid open with her teeth, dug out a piece, and held it to his lips.

"Not finished looking... I mean, not finished eating yet. You worked hard—have something sweet."

Ray stared at the sugar-syrup still clinging to her lips for two full seconds. His Adam’s apple rolled once. Then he leaned down and took the peach in one clean bite—scraping lightly across her fingertip in the process.

The rough surface of his tongue brushed the pad of her finger, sending a wave of weakness straight down her legs. Her hand jerked; she nearly dumped the entire can onto him.

"Really sweet."

He swallowed the peach and locked eyes with her, the words carrying a clear double meaning.

"Of course it is. Yellow peach cans are supposed to be sweet."

May played dumb and yanked her hand back at lightning speed. The sweetness of the peaches still hung in the air when the alcohol from the wine began to hit.

Mitch downed his third large glass, slammed the empty cup onto the metal table, and turned his red-flushed neck toward Jack.

"I’m telling you—that kick of yours almost ended my bloodline."

Jack hunched his shoulders, both large hands rubbing his knees, and stayed silent.

"You tell me," Mitch pointed at his own crotch, tongue already a little thick, "if I’d been ruined because of you, who’d take responsibility? Huh?"

As the words left his mouth, his eyes flicked toward May of their own accord, then snapped back just as fast. The tips of his ears burned crimson, as if the implication between them was already too much.

May was still holding half a can of peaches, taking tiny sips of the syrup. The wine’s after-effect was strong. Her naturally pale face now carried two soft patches of pink; the corners of her eyes looked watery, as though someone had just bullied her.

This alcohol hits hard... my head’s spinning.

She blinked and smiled at Mitch. "Mitch, you got kicked—not by me. Why are you looking for me to take responsibility?"

"Did I say I was looking for you?! Are you deliberately trying to make me take responsibility?!"

Mitch slammed the table hard enough to make Jack jump. Halfway through the sentence, he suddenly clamped his mouth shut, drained another large swallow of wine, and muttered darkly:

"Forget it. Talking to you is useless."

Theo leaned against the wall, long fingers slowly rotating the stem of his wine glass. A dark-red arc clung to the inner surface. He wasn’t drinking—only watching May through the liquid.

"Her face is already this flushed," he said in a volume just loud enough for everyone to hear. "Her alcohol tolerance is far slower than a normal woman’s. If she keeps drinking, the central nervous system suppression will make her do certain... uncontrolled things."

"Can you shut up for once?" Mitch raked a hand through his short hair in irritation. "Speak human language."

"She’ll get drunk."

Ace took no part in the conversation.

He sat diagonally across from May, one leg bent, arm resting on his knee, long pale fingers curled around the wine glass. His eyes had never left her. Those peach-blossom eyes curved, the smile flowing from the corners of his eyes all the way to his mouth. He watched her without blinking, the gaze sticking to her face.

The weight of it made heat crawl across her skin, yet she couldn’t call him out. She could only pretend nothing was wrong and take another sip of syrup.

The alcohol fully hit.

The figures in front of her began to sway. Three Mitchs drifted back and forth; two Theos stood in a neat row by the wall; Ace’s smiling face multiplied into four.

The last thread of restraint in her head snapped with an audible pop.

What soft and delicate act? Once she drank, she became an entirely different species. Perfect chance to take some advantage!

May tossed the empty can aside and pushed herself up on unsteady arms. She wobbled for several steps, feet alternating until she finally found her balance. The hem of the black T-shirt swayed with every movement, flashing a bright strip of pale waist.

"Mitch—"

She dragged the syllables out and staggered toward him.

Mitch instinctively leaned back. "What... what are you doing?"

May stretched out a hand and planted it squarely on top of his head. Five fingers spread, she scrubbed back and forth twice.

"Wow, so prickly!"

She squinted, smiling like an idiot. "Just like a little hedgehog—scratchy-scratchy—"

Mitch froze solid.

No woman had ever touched his head before. The heat of that small hand against his scalp made his temples throb. He wanted to dodge yet couldn’t bring himself to move. His face turned the color of pig liver; his lips trembled for a long moment before he forced out:

"Are... did you even clean your hands before you touch?!"

"I did nott," May declared righteously, still scrubbing happily. "But you’re not clean either—so it’s fine."

Alex slapped his thigh and howled with laughter. "Mitch’s getting toyed with—hahaha!"

Having had her fill of Mitch’s short hair, May turned, staggered two more steps, and locked onto Theo still leaning against the wall. She tilted her head, eyes sparkling as she examined the open collar of his white shirt.

"Hey, Theo."

Theo lowered his gaze to meet hers. "Mm?"

"Is your scalpel hidden right here?"

Her palm pressed against his abdomen. Through the white shirt, she gave a light squeeze.