Excuse himself to the truck

Matt stood abruptly. "Forgot my phone charger. I need to grab it."

Jonas barely glanced up. "Cool. Don't take too long."

Matt walked toward the trucks, keeping his arms crossed tight against his chest. Each step made him painfully aware of the movement underneath the gentle bounce, the friction of fabric against nipples that were swelling along with the tissue around them. They felt different now. Softer. Larger. The peak of each one pressed insistently against the flannel's inner seam.

He reached his truck and climbed into the driver's seat, locking the door behind him.

Safe. Dark. Alone.

He pulled the hoodie off, then hesitated before unbuttoning the flannel. His hands shook as he looked down.

The binding of his undershirt had ridden up. Beneath it, two small breasts sat against his narrow ribcage, pale, soft, with areolas that were wider and pinker than they'd been an hour ago. Maybe the size of half-oranges now. Tender where the fabric had rubbed.

Matt pressed his palms against them experimentally.

Wrong. Everything about the sensation was wrong, the softness giving under his fingers, the way his chest reacted to touch with a faint warmth spreading downward. His body responding like it belonged to someone else.

He pulled his hands away like he'd been

[burned.In](http://burned.In) the rearview mirror, his face looked almost feminine now. High cheekbones, full lips, wide eyes framed by dark lashes. His hair brushed his jawline, still growing.

The ring pulsed once, and he felt his breasts swell another fraction, just enough to notice.

Someone knocked on the window.