Page 10 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)
CALYX
S amuel is quiet tonight. I thought I’d love that.
When he was talking to Ryan, I was lowkey waiting for him to shut the fuck up, but now I can’t stand it.
He’s not asking questions and only grunting one word answers to mine.
It’s making me wonder if I’m not doing enough—like moving fast enough for him, but I swear I’m scared shitless I’ll hurt him if I push too hard, too soon.
After a few spinal twists, we do a sitting forward bend in butterfly, and I’m shocked at his lack of hip flexibility. “Why are you stopping?” I ask, bending forward again in case he missed that bending was part of the move. “It’s like this.”
“This is as far as I go,” he says quietly, giving me a quick glance before looking back down at where his hands are resting on his big, strong, tanned calves.
I’m not sure how common it is for a twenty-year old to tear a large muscle, but if he’s this tight, I guess I’m not surprised this one did.
“Where do you feel that?” I ask when we’ve moved into cobra because I figure maybe his back bends better than it folds, but his chest barely comes off the ground .
“My ass,” he grunts. “I feel it in my ass.”
From where I’m standing, I glance at his ass, then his hands and chest again, then…his very sculpted ass. I doubt that’s where the problem is.
“Move your hands in a little closer and try to focus your attention on your lower back. That’s where you should feel it.”
“It’s not,” he insists.
“Adjust until you do,” I say gently because I’ve noticed he’s not very patient with himself.
I’ve been demonstrating positions at about thirty percent of how I’m capable of executing them just so he doesn’t realize how very far from mastering this he is because I could swear he’s been on the verge of tears ten times in the last forty-five minutes. I’ve tried to be extra patient.
He moves his hands, wiggles his hips, and my gaze lands on his glutes again. I mean—I have a cute butt, but he’s got an ass . Two rock hard mounds that could crack a walnut between them. I could sit on it and not make a dent.
I think I see the problem, though. “You’re squeezing your thighs. This stretch should come from your upper body.”
“It’s all connected,” he says, and I can hear in his voice the way he’s straining—trying.
“It is,” I agree quietly. “If you feel it too much in your tailbone, I suggest pushing yourself up a little more on your arms. Might as well work out whatever’s too tight there. Acknowledging the limitation and leaning in sometimes helps break the connection.”
“How is this helping my leg again?” he snaps.
I make a face he can’t see. Temper, temper. “I don’t have to explain your core to you, do I?”
His inhalation is loud and measured. He doesn’t answer me, and I squat beside him, placing my hand on his tailbone, where I want him to loosen up.
He jerks like I surprised him, but I flatten my palm.
I’d like to run a hand down both his thighs to get him stop clamping them together, but I sense he’s already at his limit with both yoga and me.
“What kind of dog is it?” I ask gently, trying to settle the tension.
“What?” he nearly snaps.
“You got it from a shelter?”
“Her. I got her from a shelter. I don’t know what she is. She’s just some random mutt.”
“Have you named her yet?”
“Beauty,” he says.
“Hm.”
“Because she’s not,” he adds. “Beautiful.”
“Oh?”
“I mean she’ll never be a model or anything.”
“But you think she’s beautiful,” I say.
“I just have a feeling about her,” he murmurs, his voice sounding a little less strained.
“You can relax,” I say, tapping his back. He’s held the pose long enough. His face drops onto his hands, and he lets out a shaky breath.
The sound is kind of…intense? I’m not sure that’s the right word, but it flips my stomach upside down. Why the hell is he making me so nervous tonight?
“Um… why don’t you roll over, and let’s do a final few breaths and loosen.”
“No thanks. I gotta get home,” he says.
My head rears back. “Is everything all right?”
“Just—the dog, you know?”
“It’s five minutes,” I remind him.
He pushes himself into a plank, steps forward on his left leg and rises to stand. “Yeah…well…I think I’m good.”
Did I do something? Staring up at him, I ask, “Why do I get the feeling you won’t be back? ”
He grabs a towel from his open gym bag and wipes some sweat from his upper lip. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“No,” he says gruffly.
He looks absolutely enormous from down here. I can’t imagine how small the dog feels.
Samuel digs his phone out of a side pocket of his bag and quickly sends payment for the hour.
I can tell from the buzz in my pants that it’s landed in my account.
I immediately want to send it back, but I’ll wait until he quits officially.
Then I’ll send all the money he’s given me back.
Not because I think he needs it, but because I obviously didn’t earn it.
I always feel amazing after yoga. Clearly I’ve made him feel like shit.
Or it’s got nothing to do with me and everything to do with the dog.
“So, I don’t know if this has anything to do with it, but it’s clear you have a body capable of a lot of strength, which means it’s capable of anything you want to train for. ”
“My body isn’t the issue,” he grumbles.
“Then—”
I don’t get a chance to finish. With his bag on his shoulder, he shoves his big feet back into his shoes, and then he’s walking away. I close my mouth and watch him go, a weight settling in my chest for him. For myself. For no reason whatsoever except that it’s been there, waiting to settle in.
I don’t see him for the rest of the week. When Ryan asks how things are going with him on Friday—Samuel’s second no-show with no word, I tell him his guess is as good as mine.
“He quit?”
“Apparently.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ve got no business teaching yoga. Maybe I’m just another pretty face.”
I feel Ryan’s scowl, but I stare resolutely forward, jogging on the treadmill at a steady 5.
0. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I think I hurt Samuel’s feelings, which is just like me to make this about myself.
There are literally a million reasons why a twenty-year old MMA fighter wouldn’t want to learn one-on-one yoga basics with someone like me, and telling him not to clench his thighs is probably very low on the list. Still…
he might look tough, but he’s just a kid.
I get that I’m only a few years older than he is, but the differences in our life experiences put me at about eighty and him at twelve. At least, from what I’ve gathered.
“Or…maybe he’s got shit going on,” Ryan says.
“I’m sure that’s it,” I agree. Girl trouble. New dog issues. Maybe he went back to training at his usual gym. I hope he’s taking it slow. At any rate, I told myself if he didn’t show up today, I’d stop thinking about it, so here we are.
After we shower and change clothes, I leave with Ryan. Tonight’s the night we’re meeting up with his boyfriend Malcolm to have dinner with Ryan’s former roommate Deacon and whoever else got invited.
All I know is Deacon is cooking, and he makes the best food. I cook from time to time, but it’s mostly chicken, rice, and vegetables, and only when I feel the need to detox from all the takeout I order.
I don’t eat shit or anything—my diet is strict, but home-cooked comfort food like Deacon makes is always a reason to make an exception.
If he were older, I’d probably have a wild crush on him, but he’s a little shy for my taste, lacking the confidence it requires to date someone who invariably turns heads.
Also, I think his tastes run more toward men like Ryan or even Samuel.
Men who can bench at least as much as he can.
“What all do you know about his new roommate?” I ask Ryan as we climb the stairs to the apartment .
“Just that they work at the same company, and he washes his own dishes.”
“Ry! Hey!”
We turn to see Malcolm bursting up the staircase. I step back as he nearly tackles Ryan with a bear hug. Ryan’s laugh rings out as Mal explains, “I saw you guys coming in. I tried to tell you to wait up, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“We didn’t,” Ryan says, his hands moving up and down Mal’s back.
These two hug like it’s their job. Once Mal finally notices me, I get a hug, too, but not from Ryan. I think he saves all his for his boyfriend. “How are you?” Mal asks me.
“I’m all right. You?”
“Hungry.”
Ryan takes his hand, and I follow them the rest of the way.
Deacon answers the door in an apron. Our friend Bailey is in the kitchen stirring something in a large pot.
She aims a smile at the group of us. I scan for the new roommate, but there’s just Miguel.
Miguel, Bailey, Ryan and Malcolm were all in an internship together over the summer.
Bailey and Miguel still work at the firm they interned at, while the boyfriends have decided to do their finance-oriented YouTube show full time.
In this group, I mainly come for the free food and drinks.
I consider them friends, but I’m closest to Ryan, and he and I really aren’t all that close.
Bailey and I have more in common. We sometimes day drink and binge watch reality shows together on random Sundays.
I join her at the stove and peek into the pot. “Chowder?”
“Yes,” she says. “It’s amazing.” She’s got her curly hair pulled up in a bun and she’s wearing her signature look—overalls and a tank top.
“I’ve heard great things about this chowder,” I tell her.
“So what’s up with you? Are you caught up on The Valley? ”
I sigh. “No. I’m not. And I’m not doing anything new. I mean—I ran off my first client.” So much for not thinking about it.
“What?” She stops stirring. “Catch me up.”
I do while she hovers over the chowder. Her assessment of my dilemma is quick and unequivocal. “He sounds like a jerk.”
“He’s just a kid,” I say.