I stare at him. “What the hell’s a bubble butt?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” He rakes a frustrated hand through his blond hair.

“Okay, so like a fat ass?”

“No, not a fat ass. For fuck’s sake. It’s like two perfectly round globes, and they’re usually super tight. You know, like two bubbles, but on your butt. A bubble butt.” He sounds exasperated. “What part of this don’t you understand?”

I’m genuinely bemused. “Why are you asking?”

He flops down in a chair. “Because last night I was banging Kayla—”

“Oh, I know,” I say dryly. “I heard every second of it.”

“—and we were up against the wall, you know, with her legs wrapped around me. I was holding her ass and pushing her down on my cock—”

“Dude. I legit don’t want to hear this.”

“There’s a point, I swear,” he insists.

Our teammates start filing into the room. Coby, McCarthy, Dmitry. Heath and his fellow Whipped Cream Bandit, Jonah. A few seniors.

Brooks is unfazed by the audience. “So we were doing it standing up and she’s clawing at my shoulders. And my closet door was open so she could see the mirror, you know, the full-length one on the inside of the door?” Outrage colors his tone. “And suddenly she starts giggling, and I was like, what the hell are you laughing at, and she said it’s because she just noticed I have a bubble butt!”

“What is happening right now?” Adam the freshman says miserably. The poor kid still hasn’t adapted to us yet. You’d think after almost an entire season he’d be used to the lunacy.

Brooks spins around in his chair. We have a sweet setup here in the video room. Padded chairs that actually swivel, a huge screen that takes up nearly an entire wall. Plus a ton of cool tech that Coach likes to utilize when he’s freezing frames or highlighting certain plays.

“What’s a bubble butt?” Heath asks.

“It’s when your ass looks like two globes,” Coby supplies.

“See! He knows what I’m talking about!” Brooks points to Coby, nodding in approval. “Do I have that?” he asks the room.

“Dude, I hate to disappoint you,” I say, “but I haven’t spent much time staring at your ass. I also haven’t spent much time examining other dudes’ asses, and since I don’t know what a bubble butt looks like, I can’t tell you if you have one. So for the love of Jesus, can we talk about something else?”

Apparently not, as Brooks is already marching toward one of the laptops on Coach’s desk. He clicks the track pad a few times, and a web browser appears on the big screen behind him. “Okay, so…” He types the words “bubble butt” in the image search.

Two seconds later, rows and rows of thumbnails appear on the screen, all featuring some very sexy female behinds.

“Ugh, sorry, no, I don’t want to look at girls.” Brooks alters the search to say “man bubble butt.”

The first image that pops up is one of a fully clothed grown man in an actual bubble.

“The fuck’s that dude doing in a bubble?” Coby guffaws.

“Maybe he’s got that bubble disease,” someone offers. “You know, where you need to be shut away from the rest of the world.”

“The bubble isn’t the disease,” Dmitry says with a snicker. “The bubble is the solution to the disease.”

“Why is it so hard to find pictures of male asses?” Brooks growls. “All right, boys. Brace yourself.”

“Weston,” I caution. “Whatever you’re about to do, please don’t.”

Unfortunately, there’s no stopping Brooks when he goes on a tangent, especially when it’s related to his appearance. The man is vain as fuck.

When a porn site appears on the screen, I’m quick to issue another warning. “You better get out of there before Coach comes in.”

He glances at the clock mounted over the door. “We have ten minutes, and he’s never early. Coach is an on-the-dot kinda guy.”

That’s true, but that doesn’t mean I want to be looking at porn on university property.

Brooks clicks the search bar and keys in “bubble butt,” and we’re not surfing porn anymore. We’re surfing gay porn. Awesome.

“There!” Brooks says triumphantly. “This is what she says it looks like!” He clicks on a thumbnail labeled: bubble butt gets pounded.

Coby groans. “Bro, I don’t want to see this shit.”

But Brooks pauses the scene before the sex gets underway. In fact, there’s still only one dude in the frame, a tall Nordic blond who decides to take all his clothes off in a jiu-jitsu studio because that’s what real people do.

Brooks zooms in on the guy’s behind. And okay, I’m not going to lie—his butt cheeks do resemble two bubbles. The rest of his body is lean and ripped, so those tight globes really do attract the eye.

“It’s the first thing I notice when I look at him,” Coby admits. “My eyes go right to the ass.”

“Mine too,” I say. “That’s weird, right?”

“Is this me?” Brooks demands. “Because if it is, I’m pissed. Look at it. It’s completely disproportional to the rest of his body.”

“Dude, we just told you, we don’t pay attention to your butt,” I say irritably. “We can’t compare.”

“Fine, here.”

He turns around and drops trou.

At the same time Coach Pedersen enters the room.

Coach stumbles to a stop. His gaze travels from the naked man on the screen to Weston’s bare ass. Then he scowls at the rest of us. “What the hell is wrong with you idiots?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Brooks tries to reassure him.

“Really? Because it looks like you’re trying to compare your ass to the one up there, and the answer to that is, yes, they’re identical. Now zip up your goddamn pants, turn that garbage off, and take a seat, Weston.”

My teammate appears genuinely devastated as he pulls up his pants. “I have a bubble butt, you guys. I feel like my whole life has been a lie.”

Our goalie Johansson snickers. “Plastic surgery’s always an option.”

“Enough,” Coach snaps. “We don’t have time for this shit. We’re facing off against Jensen and his crew in five days. It’ll be televised on all the New England stations, and I’m hearing rumors about HockeyNet, too. So tell me, do you want to make fools of yourselves or do you want to win?”

“We want to win,” everyone mumbles.

“Do you want to jerk off to Weston’s ass or do you want to win?”

We raise our voices. “We want to win!”

“Good. Then shut the hell up and pay attention.”

After the meeting, Pedersen stops me before I can follow the rest of my teammates out the door. “Connelly, stay behind.”

I shove my hands in my pockets as I walk over. “What’s up, Coach?”

“Have a seat.” Based on his harsh expression, I’m obviously not in store for a pep talk. Once I’m seated, he stands in front of me, arms crossed over his bulky chest. “What’s going on with you, Jake?”