Page 14 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)
CALYX
I genuinely can’t tell if Samuel’s feeling any better about our yoga practice, but by Friday, I sure the fuck am.
He’s super hard for me to read—not like I’m some genius at reading people, but he’s very guarded.
Ever since I showed up at his apartment, his poker face has been firmly set into his features.
It makes him look slightly scary, and I wish I could say I didn’t deserve it, but I get that I do.
But if anything can make him smile, I’m betting on goat yoga. To be honest, the prospect of having any animal besides Siva climb on me for any reason during any activity isn’t my idea of a good time, but I’m willing to make some sacrifices here to atone for my shitty behavior.
I kind of hate that my mood or my issues affected my job, and I probably need to do some soul-searching about that, but that can be my Sunday project.
Tonight, I’m meeting Rachel and Priya for drinks after the gym.
I have to talk them into goat yoga instead of my regular class tomorrow, which I already have a sub for.
I’m relatively sure the chance to meet “Saber” in the flesh will be a big selling point.
And sue me, I think he’ll dig my friends. They’re a lot more fun than I am, and maybe a good lay is just what the aspiring fighter needs to pull him out of his own funk. If he gets really lucky, he might even be able to have the pair of them. They’ve been known to do that from time to time.
My best girlfriends are dressed in their tightest, scantiest pick-up gear in the downtown bar full of finance bros. I’m in a slim fitting black suit, my nod to blending in, but with the amount of looks and double-takes I’m getting, I might as well be on a runway.
“There’s our beautiful boy!” Rachel coos over the noise as I approach the two of them at the bar.
She throws her arms around me, and I soak up her hug. I love the perfume she wears. It’s Gautier Classique, the original, and it’s my favorite. I wear it occasionally, too.
Rachel’s buttery blond hair is curly tonight, while Priya has her sleek, dark locks pulled into a high ponytail. They both look gorgeous, and I have no doubt they’ll find whatever they’re looking for after I part ways with them.
Priya is next up for a hug, and I give her hair a pull. “Cute,” I tell her.
She flicks it for effect. “Thank you. You’re coming dancing with us, yes?”
“No—but I do have a proposal for tomorrow.”
“Why not?” she asks.
“Because this—” I wave at the crowd in the bar. “Is a mood I’m not in.”
“Someone needs to get laid .”
That’s Rachel and her martini talking. She drinks these raspberry lemon cocktails that taste like candy but are pure vodka and triple sec.
Ignoring her comment I say, “I’m changing our yoga venue tomorrow. We’ll be in Alamo Square.”
She wrinkles her nose. “What? Why? ”
“Because it’s gonna be sunny, and there will be goats.”
“Oh, fuck no,” Priya says.
“Fuck yes ,” I counter. “Guess who’s coming.”
Rachel grabs Priya’s arm and pulls her to her side. “The MMA fighter?”
I nod, smug, because I knew that’d do it.
“It’s goats, Rachel.” Priya says. “Actual goats. It’s not a euphemism for anything.”
“What? Like greatest of all time yoga? Bitch, I know it’s real goats. What are you—scared they’ll eat your Lulus?”
Priya presses her lips into a thin line and glares at me. “Why can’t he just come to a regular class?”
“Because,” I say. “You’ll see. He needs to lighten up.”
“ He does?” Rachel directs this at me.
“Hey. I’m fine,” I lie.
“I’ll believe that when you come dancing with us again.”
I don’t need strangers pawing at me and grinding against me, thanks.
I don’t know what it is about me that screams touch me all over without permission, but if it could be surgically removed, I’d consider it.
If I want to be touched—I’ll ask, thanks.
“I’ll make you a deal. Goat yoga this weekend, and I’ll come dancing next weekend. ”
“Wait, actually?” Priya asks, looking very serious.
I nod enthusiastically, mentally crossing my fingers behind my back.
I’ll find a way to get out of it, or at least stall.
Literally all I care about is Samuel meeting them.
With any luck, they’ll take him under their wing and give him some fun nights out to look forward to.
They go out nearly every night of the week.
“Deal,” Rachel says for both of them.
To Priya I say, “Don’t wear your good Lulus.”
She laughs. “What are you drinking?”
Now that my work is done here, I don’t feel the need to hang out for a drink, but I’ll grin and try to bear it. I point at Rachel’s drink. Priya easily snags the bartender’s attention and orders me one.
“I assume this week with him has been good?” Rachel asks.
“Better, I think. He’s really trying.”
The best decision I’ve made was to incorporate strength poses.
While Samuel isn’t the most flexible person in the world, he’s very powerful, and his warrior one is impressive to behold.
His triangle doesn’t suck either, and the mild hamstring stretch in that one is giving him more confidence in his right leg.
The one and only thing that breaks through his poker face is a look of cool confidence when he knows he’s doing something right.
“Is he being nice to you?” she asks.
I’m not sure how to answer that. He’s not mean, he’s just not…warm. But I deserve that. “Nice enough. He’s pretty reserved.” There. That was diplomatic.
“Mm…I can’t wait to meet him. Do you think he’ll let me feel his muscles? Spar with me a little?” She wiggles her shoulders like she’s raring to go.
“I want to spar, too,” Priya says, rejoining the conversation.
“I think both of you need to tone it down, but I barely know the guy, so I could be misreading.”
“We’ll go easy on him.”
“Sure we will,” Priya says with a smirk as she sips her margarita.
“Is he straight, though?” Rachel asks
“I’m assuming, yeah,” I say.
“You can’t assume that shit around here,” she says with the cynicism of someone who’s lived in San Francisco her whole life. “And you’re not interested?”
“I just said he’s straight.”
“You said you think he is, and those labels never seem to apply to you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell her, trying to ignore the enormous man nearby who hasn’t stopped staring at me. Not interested, bro. “I think I made it clear when I said he’s not my type.”
“And yet, you’ve taken such a special interest.”
“Because I’m fucking his father ,” I remind her.
“Oh, you hardly ever fuck Marcus. Quarterly doesn’t count.”
“Pardon me, but it certainly does.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“He’s married. And no, I’m not in love with Marcus. He’s an asshole who cheats on his wife. He’s just very, very hot and difficult to resist.”
“Have you tried resisting?” Rachel asks.
I roll my eyes and grab the drink the bartender just placed in front of me. “I’m sure I could manage.”
“So, the son’s off limits—gay or not?”
“Not for you,” I tell her. “Go for it.”
“You said lay off.”
“I just mean I told him you two were harmless, so don’t scare him. He’s not even old enough to be served here.”
That seems to knock some sense into her. “Damn. I hadn’t even thought about that. Why does that make him sound like a baby? Does he look like a baby?”
I shake my head. “No, they probably would serve him. He looks older. He’s chiseled all his baby fat away.”
“Oof. Tell me more, daddy.”
I laugh. “Let’s have brunch after yoga, okay? My treat.”
“Why does it sound like you’re trying to impress this boy?” Priya asks.
“It does not,” I say.
But I’m obviously trying to accomplish something with goat yoga and brunch.
Talk about stepping outside my comfort zone.
I want Samuel to lighten up, yeah, and if he’s new to town and his whole life here has been his training gym until he hurt himself, then I’m assuming he’s a little isolated.
That was why I asked earlier this week when he was planning to get back to his gym.
He hasn’t been especially chatty with me, but my first impression of him was that he liked to talk until I made it clear I wasn’t a safe space, which I still regret because I’m totally safe.
The more I’ve thought about it, the more I realized the Marcus factor was an issue week one.
I deliberately tried to draw a professional line, and in the meantime, was totally unprofessional.
I was treating him like a stereotype and not a person—which is exactly the way I hate being treated.
Those goats better fucking come through for me tomorrow.
Alamo Square Park has arguably the best view in San Francisco.
The iconic row of colorful houses—the Painted Ladies—sits on one side, and breezes from the bay come in from the other.
You can see the whole city from here on a clear day.
It’s partly cloudy and chilly this morning, though.
There are occasional peeks of sunshine, but I’m shivering in my hoodie while I wait for anyone I know to show up.
The goats are braying from a pen nearby, and the smell of them keeps wafting my way.
There seem to be a lot of them. A dozen at least.
The class is a fairly young crowd carrying yoga mats and sipping from Stanleys. Rachel and Pri will be here—they’ll just roll in at the last minute as usual. The person I’m really worried about showing is Samuel.
He never technically said he’d come, and I’m so tempted to text him, but I refrain, not wanting to be overbearing. It’s fine either way. Even if goat yoga is a total fail, it’s bound to be memorable. And if not—mimosas.
And then he shows. I see the top of his head first as he comes over the hill where the yoga class is set up.
Then the rest of him appears in all his massiveness.
So damn tall. He’s wearing sunglasses and looking around, but then I guess he sees me because he changes course slightly and heads my direction.