At the top of Machu Picchu, we dropped our packs on the ground and grabbed water bottles, Oliver sweating as if he'd just run a marathon, laboring to catch his breath at an altitude none of us were used to. Dash had taken his shirt off halfway up the trail. His body gleamed, and as I stared, he caught me.
"Like what you see?" Dash asked. "There's a lot more to see." He smiled and rested his hands on his six-pack abs. He was never shy about his vanity.
"Don't I always?" I replied. "And I don't recall a time when you complained about the way I looked at you or touched you."
"Speaking of which." That was all Dash got out of his mouth before being interrupted.
"Excuse me, sir, visitors must be clothed to tour these sacred grounds." The tour guide stood over Dash until he put his shirt bac
