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Page 16 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)

SAMUEL

I ’m not disappointed when the waitress doesn’t ask for my ID when I order a mimosa but only because it would have been embarrassing since she doesn’t ask for anyone else’s.

After she walks away, everyone is staring at me. “What?”

“Naughty boy.”

I frown. “You all ordered drinks,” I say.

Calyx says, “She just means because of your age.”

“Oh,” I say. “Today’s actually my birthday.”

His eyes widen, and I feel my face getting hot. I probably shouldn’t have sat next to him in the booth. I’m like—way too aware of him.

“You came to goat yoga on your birthday ?”

I gesture at the table. “And brunch.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” he asks, looking kind of bummed. “I would have picked a better place.”

“What’s wrong with this one?”

He gestures across the table at Priya and Rachel, “I picked here because they look like hags, but we could have planned something nice.”

“Why would you—?” I shut up. “This is fine. ”

“We have to go out tonight and celebrate,” Rachel says. Apparently the hag comment didn’t faze her.

“Yes!” Priya adds. “The place with the cage dancers.”

Calyx looks alarmed by the suggestion. “Whoa. Ladies. Cool off. He’s probably got plans.”

They don’t even know me. “I don’t.” I say. “Cage dancers, huh?”

Rachel says, “It’s like a 24-7 rave. If you like that kind of thing.”

“I guess we’ll see,” I tell her.

“Don’t let them pressure you,” Calyx says. “They can take no for an answer.”

“Is there someplace you’d rather go?” I ask, and I don’t know why I do it. Just that if I am gonna go out, it’d technically be his fault, so he should probably be there to see it.

Listen to me. I’m in a near flop sweat from sitting next to him, but ready to call it a day if I don’t get a chance to dance with him.

I’m all over the fucking place. I blame the pink underwear comment.

I’m not sure I’ve been thinking straight since.

Correction: I definitely haven’t been thinking straight.

“Have you ever been to a big dance club before?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Did you like it?”

I didn’t, but it is my twenty-first birthday, and I have this rare, unexpected opportunity to actually spend it with people, so I don’t really care where we go.

What I’m going to wear is a whole other problem, but I figure I have the rest of the day to try and solve it. “It was fine. I’ll go wherever.”

“Calyx…” Rachel says leadingly.

“Someone came on my ass the last time I was there,” he complains, and I nearly choke on air.

Priya bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, I totally forgot about that.”

“I was basically assaulted. ”

“My friend,” Rachel says, reaching across the table and grabbing his hand. “I love you, but I’ve seen less dirty kisses in porn.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he sighs, throwing himself back in the booth and crossing his arms.

Holy shit, I’m getting hard again, and there are no goats to hide behind this time.

Rachel looks at me. “Not to be indiscreet, but he was really putting himself out there , if you get my meaning.”

“I was drunk. Doesn’t count,” Calyx says, but also doesn’t sound bothered by his friend’s characterization, and that shouldn’t make my dick any thicker, but it does . Thank God for this table.

“So, it’s settled?” Priya asks expectantly.

I nod. Rachel is an enthusiastic yes.

Calyx puffs out the word, “Fine,” just before our drinks arrive.

I survive the rest of brunch thanks to Rachel and Priya. Calyx doesn’t end up saying much, but the women easily fill the silences. I talk a lot, the champagne loosening me up, but the topics are easy and mostly revolve around MMA.

I’m sleepy by the time I get home, so I shower the goat and grass off me before climbing into bed with Beauty.

On my phone, I pull up Calyx’s Instagram reels.

I’ve spent plenty of time on his TikTok, too, but for whatever reason, even though I guess it’s supposed to show more of his personality—it doesn’t match with the person I’ve spent an hour every evening with this week, or even this morning.

Watching him model booty shorts and skimpy tops is tantalizing and everything, but the IG vibe is sleeker, more contained, and for whatever reason, it’s easier to fantasize about the unattainable version of him.

And yes, I do fantasize about him. How can I not? I feel like I should be more conflicted about it—him being male and everything—since I’ve never been attracted to a guy before, but I’m just not bothered by it. At all.

I think he’s dead sexy, and I couldn’t care less what’s between his legs.

Actually, that’s not true. The fact that there’s a cock there actually makes my attraction to him feel feverish.

My father’s words— he’s rare —keep coming back to me.

It’s so true. I can’t think of a comparison, and I’ve taken a lot of walks around San Francisco lately.

I’ve seen pretty boys of all stripes. Dark and light, long hair, short hair, feminine and boyish, and there’s not a single person I’ve noticed that has what Calyx’s got.

He’s an exquisite blend of masculine and feminine. The same way those really hot masc lesbians are. Although I’ve never gotten off to any of their Reels before.

With Calyx’s Instagram feed, though, I haven’t been able to help myself.

It’s a rabbit hole I keep falling into even though I know that if he knew I’ve been scrolling it obsessively, he’d probably think I was a terrible person, but he’s basically all I think about when I’m not plotting my return to the training gym.

He’s that hot. I’ve literally never wanted to fuck anyone as much as I want to fuck him.

It’s a useless fantasy, and I mostly get that, but it doesn’t really matter how many ways I try to tell myself to give it up. My dick just keeps winding up in my hand when my other hand inevitably navigates to his page.

Today, I barely need the visual aids because I keep thinking about pink underwear on his golden skin.

In my imagination, they’re a hot pink pair of boy shorts with lace on the edges.

I picture him beside me in corpse pose in the studio, his hand inside the panties, his eyes on mine while I stroke myself, too.

His hair is back in that kerchief thing, and I can see his whole face, his parted lips as he first sighs and then makes rougher sounds when he reaches deeper between his legs .

I lick my lips and squeeze my dick, using only spit for lube because I’m lazy and a little buzzed.

He arches his back in my fantasy, his lean thighs trembling, and his eyes close as he moans.

Precum leaks from my tip, and I use it to jerk myself quicker. My balls thump as the image of him rolls over, pushing himself into that dirty cow pose with his ass pressed out. “ So tight there ,” imaginary Calyx says.

Real me wants to stretch him the fuck out, and I picture sliding those boy shorts down just enough to see his ass cleavage. Before I’ve even got him fully exposed, I’m tumbling into an orgasm that makes Beauty look at me funny as I pant and jerk every last drop from my dick.

“Oh, God, oh, fuck …” I groan, turning my face into the pillow because I’m breathing too hard and fast.

I don’t know what the solution to this is, but there’s gotta be one, right?

Maybe it’s as simple as watching him dance with other men or women. Seeing what his type is—because there’s absolutely no indication that he has any interest in me besides keeping my dad off his back.

I’m basically a kid he’s babysitting.

I hang on to the slightest possibility that there will be someone else who’ll be sexy enough to get my attention off him tonight, and I let the post orgasmic numbness lull me to sleep.

I sleep longer than I mean to, which leaves me rushing to pick an outfit.

I have a couple of suits and a ton of workout clothes, but my casual wear is limited to jeans and flannel shirts.

All black feels like a safe bet. It’s not festive, but I pair black wool slacks with a black henley and a nice belt.

For the shoes, the options are even more limited.

I have a pair of dark brown ankle boots, but I can’t make myself wear them with all black even though they don’t technically look bad .

Like—my dad could pull it off, but not me.

Which leaves me with either black Vans or Doc Martens.

I have no choice but to phone a friend.

Evan answers the FaceTime call shirtless, from his bed. He’s lying on his stomach looking down at his phone. “FaceTime, huh?”

“First—is this outfit okay?” I flip the phone camera to the mirror and watch him squint at the screen.

“You’re not wearing any shoes.”

“That’s the second question.”

“What are you getting dressed for?”

“I’m going out. To a club. Calyx is gonna be there.”

He rises up to his elbows and widens his eyes. “Wait—you’re dressing up for Calyx ?”

“Trying,” I mutter.

“Did something happen?”

“Not yet.”

“I need you to stop being vague.”

“You’re the one who said I needed to get laid. This is me trying.” I wince at myself, realizing too late how this could all come across. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you about it.”

“No! I told you, it was platonic head.”

I frown.

“It’s a thing,” he says. “Trust me. But I’m so excited for you. Did you ask him out, or what happened?”

I sigh. “It’s my birthday.”

He gasps. “Why didn’t you tell me? Happy birthday.”

“Thanks. This all just kind of came up.”

“Well, I like you in all black,” he says. “So what’s the shoe situation? ”

I show him the choices, deliberately not including the one pair of dress shoes I have. They’ll kill my feet, and at some point I have to pick comfort over fashion.

“Oh, not the brown,” he says. “Are those Vans as beat up as they look on the phone? I’m assuming yes.”

“Yes,” I agree.

“But the Docs don’t feel like you.”

“I went through a phase in high school.”

“We all did, babe. Do you have time to wash the Vans?”

“Not like—in the washing machine.”

“Well, do what you can to clean them up a little, maybe switch out the laces, and I think those are fine.”

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