Holy mother-forking shirtballs. I shouldn’t know what my best friend’s trouser snake feels like. I shouldn’t but after waking up naked in his bed with IT pressed against me, I do. So, even though nothing happened between us, I promptly freak out. Silently, of course, because I don’t want to risk waking him up. And now I have a problem. For the past six years, I’ve been perfectly content looking the other way every time I see Hudson running across the football field in those tight pants or walking around our house shirtless, but now I’m noticing everything. Especially the way he looks in those jeans. And he’s not looking at me like someone who’s just a friend. So when he suggests one night of no strings fun to get it out of our systems, I’m powerless to say no. And then everything will go back to normal. Or at least that’s the plan.