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

He shakes his head like I’m not getting off that easy, but then slides me off his lap, stands, and goes back upstairs to get dressed. He leaves my townhouse in casual clothes, giving me a kiss on the cheek at the door.

I make another cup of coffee and lie down with my cat on the sofa, pulling a blanket around me before I lose myself in Bravo reality shows.

Per our Saturday routine, I meet my friend Ryan at the gym.

We work out together before my one o’clock yoga class.

He’s a year younger than I am, but unlike me, he went to college and grad school.

He’s also in a new romantic relationship with his former stepbrother, and I get the feeling that the time he spends at the gym is the only time he gets away from Malcolm.

Nothing against Mal, but he’s as clingy with Ryan as Siva is with me, and I get it. Ryan’s a catch—not my type, but he’s definitely hot. He’s got that ripped, tattooed, dark-haired broody thing going for him. He’s also crazy smart with a killer smile.

He’s not really the kind of person who talks about his relationship, though. We talk about his other new pastime—his YouTube show with Mal which is currently exploding in popularity.

“You called it, by the way,” he says as he holds my feet down while I do sit-ups. “People started sending us stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” I puff out. I hate sit-ups.

“A lot of ties for some reason. Hair gel. Cologne. Socks.”

I wrinkle my nose “That’s no fun.”

“Is that not the kind of stuff you get?” he asks.

“I do,” I grunt. “But I also get fun stuff like dildos and panties. No one’s sent Mal panties?”

“Why would anyone send Mal panties?”

“Why would they send me dildos?” I ask.

His eyes widen like he hadn’t heard me say it the first time .

“Are you blushing?” I manage a laugh and regret it as my abs tense up worse. “I asked because he makes shirtless videos on TikTok. And some guys like that kind of thing. As you know.”

“He’ll wear panties on TikTok over my cold, dead body,” Ryan says.

I have to laugh again, so I sprawl out on my back, done with the sit-ups. “You’re right—but if you consider posting on X, then a jock strap?—”

“We’re not,” Ryan snaps, which only makes me laugh harder. “Are you picturing my boyfriend in his underwear?”

“A little,” I admit, “but it’s innocent, I promise. Mental market research.”

“Wait— you don’t post on X, do you?”

“ No . Jesus.” American Vogue would blacklist me forever.

“How are things going with your manager?” Ryan asks as he’s toweling off his sweaty face.

Probably my favorite thing about Ryan is his complete lack of judgment. I’ve talked about Marcus a lot this week during our workouts since I knew he was coming to town. I was concerned with my lack of excitement at having him here. “Better than I thought it’d be.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, he’s great. I’m the one with the problem.”

“Why?” Ryan asks. “What’s your problem? Besides being lazy as fuck. Roll over, we’re doing push-ups.”

I groan but do as he says. He moves three times as fast as I do through the exercise, but I’m not trying to be as built as he is. I also don’t think I could be unless I started injecting hormones.

“He’s pressuring me to go back to work.”

“With respect, I get that you’re sort of working here, but I don’t really get why you’re not modeling more either. Did something happen?”

“Not exactly. ”

“Burnout’s completely understandable,” he says, his breaths easy. He’s not even winded. “But if it’s not going away, then are you thinking about next steps? You mentioned going back to school once.”

I’ve also mentioned moving to the Maldives and serving cocktails.

There are few things I haven’t considered over the last several months, but nothing’s sparking my interest beyond a quick internet search.

Careers are hard. Plus, I already have one, so I’d be starting all over, which sounds exhausting.

“I decided against it,” I say.

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” I grumble. “I just don’t want to.”

Ryan is great about knowing when to shut up. Pretty sure it’s his default setting.

Done with my fifteen push-ups, I sit back and wait for Ryan to finish his one hundred. I watch his sweat drip onto the mat. I’m lightly perspiring. Enough to give me a flush and a healthy glow.

I glance toward the door in time to see my two favorite women straggle in with sunglasses on and detox smoothies in hand.

Since I only settled down in San Francisco six months ago after years of traveling and only barely living here, my relationships are all fairly new or in the developmental stages, and they all stem from this neighborhood gym.

Lower Haight is a tight-knit community that’s super chill and accepting.

It’s not cheap, obviously, nowhere in the city is, but it’s down to earth and friendly.

My townhouse is just across the street, so this gym is my home away from home.

I was thrilled when the manager gave me a few classes to teach.

Honestly, I’d do it every day if they let me.

I don’t have any formal training per se, but I’ve been doing yoga and Pilates since I was twelve. I’m self-taught, but sure—I’d call myself an expert. It’s not like I teach the advanced classes or anything.

My friend Rachel waves at me, and I wave back as Ryan finishes his workout. “I’ve gotta go set up for my class,” I tell him.

“See you Monday?” he asks.

“I’ll be here.” I put my hand on his shoulder to push myself to my feet. I wind my way through the equipment to Rachel and Priya. “Don’t tell me,” I say, slinging an arm around Rachel. “Karaoke orgy.”

“Close—karaoke pool party.”

“Naked?” I ask.

“She was,” Priya says.

Rachel snorts. “Bitch, don’t act like no one saw your nipples.”

“That was a wardrobe malfunction .”

“Um, okay, nice timing with the whole ‘everybody look at me!’”

“I thought it was a better bra. Sue me.”

To me, Rachel says, “She did a cannonball and came up with her tits out.”

“For like two seconds.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Rachel says. “She pretended not to notice for slightly longer.”

Rachel and Priya have been friends since another one of Priya’s wardrobe malfunctions.

They met in a ladies room and have been close ever since.

Rachel is five-five, blond and pretty in a deceptively delicate way.

Her personality is anything but delicate.

She has pale, rosy skin, cat-like green eyes, and a soft, heart-shaped face.

Priya, on the other hand is taller—five-eight with the glossiest black hair I’ve ever seen.

Her desi roots are evident in her burnished brown skin, dark eyes, and full lips.

Her beauty is obvious and striking. Her personality is non-stop flirtatious.

I laugh. “Whose party was this? ”

“Some tech bro.” Rachel says. “I don’t know. Fabulous pool though. They had a whole city view.”

“It wasn’t Isaac, was it?” I ask because the layout sounds familiar.

“No, he was young.”

Ouch . Isaac isn’t that old. He’s not even forty, which is technically young for me.

“How’s your other old man?”

Rachel isn’t pulling her punches today. This is what I get for trying to open up with people. “I need to set up my music,” I tell her.

“You should have come with us last night. The men were?—”

“You can tell me all about them at brunch.” I cut them off and head into the studio to set up my music, center my breathing, and enjoy one of the only hours of my week that might not suck.

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