Ruin Porn (17 page)

Evin cracked up when Ritchie popped up at the other end of the pool, twirling Finn’s bright blue shorts over his head. His victory dance didn’t last long because Finn rose up out of the water and grabbed Ritchie, pulling him beneath the waves. Evin continued to laugh as the two nut balls in the pool wrestled, each trying to get the upper hand on the other—white asses shining in the moonlight and dangly bits flopping. It was funny as hell to watch these two going at it, their constant curses and statements of bravado harmonizing with the car horns and raucous calls of clubbers that filtered up from the street below.

Evin grabbed his clenching belly as he continued to chuckle, wiping away the tears with his other hand.
What dorks.

He should have known that with Ritchie’s extra height, he’d get the best of Finn when he finally got his arms around the smaller man. Ritchie dove and got under Finn, and as they broke the surface of the water, Ritchie had his longer arms in the crook of Finn’s knees. Finn rolled into a ball, his back pressed to Ritchie’s chest. Finn’s hands instantly went up and he grabbed two handfuls of Ritchie’s hair, yanking his head down until his forehead rested on Finn’s shoulder.

Evin couldn’t see what Ritchie was doing in retaliation, but Evin guessed Ritchie had bit Finn or something equally dirty because Finn released his hold on Ritchie’s hair and screamed “Uncle.”

Ritchie let go of Finn and threw his hands up over his head, bouncing up and down. “I win!”

“Yeah, yeah. You fucking cheated is what you did,” Finn grumbled and made his way over to the edge of the pool. “Hey, Ev, you wanna hand me a towel? Bastard got water up my nose.”

Evin picked up the towel next to his lounge chair and took it to Finn. “Aw, is someone being a sore los—”

His wrist was grabbed and his words cut off as he plummeted forward, flailing without a chance of righting himself and sucking in a mouthful of chlorinated water as he fell akimbo into the pool. Finn and Ritchie both grabbed him and yanked him above the surface of the water as he coughed and choked, unable to defend himself against their assault. By the time he caught his breath, he was bare-ass naked, the two of them hooting and dancing around as they tossed Evin’s shorts back and forth between them.

“Assholes,” Evin chastised but couldn’t stop the grin that curled his lips. Recovered sufficiently from the near drowning, he scrambled up out of the pool, and in Ritchie Don’t-Call-Me-Dick Myer style, he yelled “Geronimo” and jumped into the pool.

F
INN
WOULD
have laughed, but he was sure that the simple act of cracking a smile would send Miah over the conference room table. Black and white 8x10 glossies of him, Ritchie, and Evin splashing around in the hotel rooftop pool—in all their naked glory—covered the table in front of them. Finn glanced over at Evin to his right, then to Ritchie to his left. Their contrite expressions mirrored each other as Schaffer continued to bellow through the speakerphone.

“What the fuck did you three think you were doing?” Schaffer screamed.

“Apparently the dickweeds weren’t,” Miah chimed in.

Finn shot him an angry glare and flipped him off.

“We were drunk. Got a little carried away, sir. Just having a little stupid fun.” Ritchie tried to placate Schaffer.

“A little stupid fun. A LITTLE STUPID FUN? Are you fucking kidding me? You were naked wrestling in Greece! Sid, show these three idiots what a
little stupid fun
just cost us.”

Sid pulled out a tabloid from his briefcase and plopped it down on top of the photos. The headline read
Rez Members Caught Skinny-Dipping
. Finn was able to keep his laughter in check until he read the first couple of lines of the article.

Dip your tool in the pool of the Man who stilled the waters,

Dunk your junk, (if you’re drunk) in the land where He calmed the sea.

Finn recognized the old-school spiritual immediately; it was one Rez had covered in the early days of their YouTube channel. But those lyrics had definitely been modified to fit the current situation. He fucking lost it laughing. He slapped his hand over his mouth but not quickly enough to stop the snicker that escaped. Containing himself became all the more difficult when he spotted Ritchie shaking as he tried to contain his own laughter and Evin doing the same with both hands over his face. Finn normally hated the paparazzi, but he had to give this tabloid writer points for creativity.

“You find something funny in this?” Schaffer growled through the phone.

“Actually”—
Oh Jesus, ‘Dunk your junk, if you’re drunk,’ that was some funny shit—
“You gotta admit it’s a pretty comical take on the night.” The song “Put Your Hand in the Hand” popped into his head with the new lyrics, and he shook with the effort to contain the belly laugh that was trying to force itself out. That fucking song was going to be stuck in his head all day.

“Yeah, well, the rumors beginning to spread about three members of a very popular rock band being faggots isn’t the least bit funny,” Schaffer responded, his distaste for the idea evident through the line.

That was enough to sober Finn and the other two up and cause his gut to flip-flop. He cleared his throat. “Um…. No, sir, that’s not the least bit funny.”

“We’ve got to do some damage control. I want to see photos plastered everywhere of the three of you with scantily clad women with big tits. I want pictures of your lips smashed against big red-painted ones, hands massaging asses from beneath miniskirts of big-bootied chicks. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the three of them said in unison.

“And Jesus H. Christ, no more skinny-dipping unless the pool is full of naked women. Sid, take care of this fucking mess.”

The line went dead.

“I got this,” Miah said to Sid and stood to pace.

Sid gathered up the photos and tabloid, stuffed them into his case, and hurried out of the room, likely ecstatic to be avoiding the uncomfortable confrontation part of the evening.

Finn leaned back in his chair, propped his feet on the table, and crossed his arms over his chest. He waited with bated breath for the Miah Thade shitstorm that was about to rage. Finn watched him warily as he stomped around the room, hands shoved in his pockets. If this was a cartoon, the sight of burning brain matter would have been rolling out Miah’s ears like a thundercloud as he overanalyzed the situation. Finn wasn’t going to make this easy for the guy and get the conversation going, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to apologize, nor was he about to be pushed around by the homophobic bastard.

Evin went to the minifridge and pulled out a beer. He held one up toward Finn, who nodded, and then to Ritchie, who shook his head as he continued to bite at the side of his thumbnail. Evin handed Finn a beer and took his own, then sat next to Finn. Evin kept his head down, picking at the label on his bottle. Finn understood Evin’s reluctance to engage Miah; he understood Ritchie’s even better. That didn’t mean he had to subscribe to the same survival mechanism. Neither of them looked as if they wanted Miah to just get this the fuck over with, but screw that. Finn refused to be intimidated.

He popped the top on his beer, took a long pull, and then bumped his shoulder against Evin’s. “You want to go get some gyros?”

“No one is going any-fucking-where till we figure this out,” Miah spat.

“What the hell is there to figure out?” Finn retorted.

“You heard Schaffer. We have to do some damage control. You three fucked up big-time.”

“Spare me your theatrics, Thade. If we looked through our old family albums, we’d find pics of the three of us skinny-dipping. Hey, Ritchie, remember that time all of us got caught butt-ass-nekkid in the community pool? What were we, like sophomores?”

“Juniors,” Ritchie corrected in a soft voice.

“See there, Thade, you were dunking your junk with dudes not so very long ago. It’s
not
a big deal.” Finn grinned, tipped his beer back, and took another big gulp.

“It was different then,” Miah argued. “We didn’t have to worry about people going around and snapping our pictures and sharing them with the whole goddamn world.”

Finn leaned in closer to Evin and in a stage whisper said, “Apparently he’s forgotten his dick was plastered over every cell phone during our senior year after some chick he was banging got pissed when he dumped her.” Finn sat back and raised his bottle. “Ain’t that right, Miah? Your dick was a star long before Rez was.”

“Goddammit, Finn! Would you get serious for a moment? We need a plan to fix this clusterfuck you three created.”

“I
am
serious.” Finn leaned over to Evin once again and added, “He’s got a very big dick.”

Miah rounded on him, about to say something, when Ritchie jumped up, getting between them. “Alright, guys. Come on, let’s calm down, shall we?”

Finn and Miah continued to glare at each other, neither willing to be the first to turn away. Miah’s arrogance mixed with Finn’s stubbornness was at the heart of almost every standoff they faced. The unending and predictable cycle of their bickering should have bored Finn after this many years, but he got way too much joy from rankling Miah to stop now.

Ritchie muscled Miah back, talking to him in hushed tones. Ritchie—in full Mom mode—was the only one who could make Miah back down. Or if not back down, then at least ease up. Finn knew they’d caused some shit with being papped on the rooftop. He wasn’t a complete idiot. But still, it wasn’t as big a deal as everyone was making out. If the paps could have read his mind while he was splashing around with two hard bodies that he wanted to fuck,
then
they’d have a problem.

For one insane moment, he had the desire to point that out.

He hid the smile that thought produced behind his beer and took another drink.
Nah.
No sense getting Miah riled up even more. His smile grew as he began to hum the tune running in a loop in his head.
Dunk your junk, if you’re drunk, hmm hmm hmm.

Funny shit.

R
ITCHIE
KEPT
pushing, forcing Miah’s attention on him until he had steered him out the conference room door and closed it behind them. Only when they were alone did he release Miah.

“Goddammit, Ritchie. I need to get this fixed now,” Miah repeated.

“I get it, and so does Finn.”

“He sure as fuck doesn’t act like it.”

Ritchie leaned his shoulder against the wall and fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Finn is acting like he always does. If you weren’t so freaked-out, you’d know it. He’s goading you, man, because you’re letting him. He knows, I know, hell even Evin knows we messed up, but you’re blowing this out of proportion. It’s an easy fix.”

Miah took a deep breath and steepled his hands in front of his chest. “And how, pray tell, are we supposed to do that?”

“You heard Schaffer. We flood the market with pics of us with chicks. If you stop and think about this for a moment, this could work to our advantage. We don’t have to address any rumors at all. Let them talk.”

“But—”

Ritchie held up his hands. “I’m not finished. You know I’m right. Whether people love us or hate us, as long as they are talking about us, our popularity grows. So let’s give them something to talk about. Leave them guessing. I mean, dude, the creators of
Supernatural
even wrote the Winchester bromance into the story line and that’s like, eww incest—”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Miah interrupted.

Ritchie scoffed. “Internet.”

Miah ducked his head to hide a responding smile, but Ritchie knew he’d effectively defused Miah.

“I don’t know,” Miah said, but his tone was more welcoming than his words. Miah showed all signs of warming to the idea, at least beginning to think about this PR op strategically.

Ritchie patted Miah’s cheek. “I say we haven’t hit true popularity until the fans are writing stories about us and our crazy sexcapades.” When Miah frowned, Ritchie added, “Dude, there’s nothing wrong with skinny-dipping and you know it. It’s not like we were having sex or anything. We take the route of not giving a fuck about anyone’s orientation, with a special shout-out to our gay fans, and we’ll get more positive press than negative. You always have Rez’s best interest at heart. Just stop and think for a moment. You’ll see this can and will work in our favor.”

Miah blew out a heavy sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t like it, but yeah. Makes sense. You’re right, Mom,” Miah conceded, a sheepish grin curling his lip.

“I usually am.” Ritchie chuckled and pushed away from the wall. “Now, let’s go kiss and make up, shall we? You know Finn hates it when you get all handsy with him.”

Miah cringed. “Pfft, I’d rather kiss the northbound end of a southbound dog.”

Ritchie opened the door and held it ajar for Miah. “I think that can be arranged.”

“What can be arranged?” Finn asked, suspicion tingeing his voice.

“I gotta find a scraggly mutt for Miah.”

“No need.” Miah launched himself on Finn, knocking his chair back. “I got me one right here,” he said before he planted a big sloppy kiss on Finn’s head.

The two of them rolled around on the floor, cursing and bitching, but he could tell neither of them had any real animosity toward the other. Ritchie moved to stand next to Evin, who was watching the two with interest.

Evin cocked an eyebrow. “Should we separate them?”

“Nah, this is how they make up,” Ritchie explained.

“By beating the shit out of each other?”

Ritchie nodded and winced when Miah took an elbow to the gut. “Might as well have that beer now. They’re going to be at it for a while.”

“Have they always been like this?” Evin asked as he followed Ritchie to the fridge.

Ritchie took his empty can from him, handed him a full one, and grabbed one for himself. “Since we were kids. You wouldn’t know it to look at them, but they really do love each other.” He started to sit down, but at the last second turned and grabbed a bowl of candy from the counter, waving it at Evin. “Might as well sit back and enjoy the show.”