Camouflage Pants, Visible Problem

Chet Donnelly stepped out of his bedroom feeling ten pounds lighter and twice as confident. A "strategic release," as he liked to call it, always sharpened his focus. And today? Focus was important.

After all, Lisa was living in his house this week.

Lisa.

The hottest girl he had ever seen. The girl destiny clearly intended for him. The girl who absolutely would fall for him.

Any day now.

She just didn't know it yet.

Chet adjusted his shirt, sniffed, decided he didn't smell that bad, and swaggered down the hallway with the self-assurance of a man who had never once been correct about anything in his life but was too stupid to realize.

Downstairs, the dining room table was covered in paintball gear—his pride, his joy, his unnecessarily expensive hobby.

"Time to clean you up," he told the paintball gun, patting the barrel like it was a loyal dog. "Gotta stay sharp. Nobody likes a loser."

He could see it now, Lisa, cheering his name from the sidelines. Lisa, impressed by his tactical prowess. Lisa, sitting next to him during pizza night because obviously she'd choose him over any guy, especially his little brother Wyatt.

He could see it, the obvious attraction between the two. It made sense, really, both of them being friends since forever, but despite Wyatt's sudden ability to dress herself like a normal guy, she was nothing compared to Chet. Chet was the grand prize. Wyatt was a participation ribbon.

Looking at the clock, Chet realized that, as the big brother, it was time for him to take responsibility and start making dinner. Chet grabbed his phone.

"Extra Large pepperoni, stuffed crust," he said confidently. "Yeah, yeah, two dips. And a Pepsi."

He hung up and nodded to himself.

Provider mode activated.

He sat down, picked up a rag, and began the meticulous ritual of wiping down the paintball gun. It was soothing. Meditative. Just like he'd done up in his bedroom, a man had to take care of his gear. He had to be prepared for battle, both on the field and in the arena of love.

The front door opened. Chet looked up, dropping the paintball gun directly onto the hardwood floor, his prized possession instantly forgotten.

Wyatt stepped in first, babbling on about traffic numbers and ad revenue, whatever that means. Chet barely registered her beyond the normal background noise of "Wyatt existing."

Because behind her was the main event.

Lisa walked in.

His heart began to race. His palms got sweaty. And despite the preparation he'd taken upstairs earlier, his pants began to get tight.

Lisa was wearing a cheerleading outfit. A tight, microscopic cheerleading outfit. Blue and silver. Skirt barely there. Stockings flawless.

Every man's brain would have melted on sight.

Chet's didn't melt. It detonated.

He made a noise not known in modern phonetic systems. Something between a gasp, a moan, and a malfunctioning lawnmower.

Lisa spotted him and waved shyly. That wave alone almost made him pass out.

"Hey, Chet," Lisa said.

And then it happened. A gift from above. Walking by the table, Lisa tripped over Chet's fallen paintball gun. Right before his eyes, as if happening in slow motion, the sexiest girl on the planet face-planted, skirt flipping up, giving Chet a show of his panties.

It was amazing. It was like Christmas morning had gotten married to Playboy magazine.

Lisa skidded to a halt, face just an inch or two away from Wyatt's red leather boots.

Chet stared at Lisa's incredible ass. He made a strangled, gurgling noise. He wanted to save face, even to help out, but it was too late. His erection, the one he had thought he had tamed just a few minutes earlier, was back in full ****.

Then he wordlessly turned around, walked up the stairs with stiff, robotic strides, and vanished back into his bedroom.

He slammed the door, his brother forgotten, only Lisa on his mind. He quickly pulled out his phone and opened the picture he'd secretly taken of Lisa sleeping the night before. This shouldn't take long. Strategic release. It was the only way he was going to be able to think clearly for the next week.

And a clear head was what he needed if he was going to close this deal.

He lay back on his bed and pulled his camouflage patterned pants down to his knees.

Round two. Let's go.