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Page 32 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)

CALYX

I ’m like—really good at Kung Fu.

And I’m not just saying that because Samuel says so—I’m objectively gifted at it.

I can tell by my reflection in the mirror when we’re practicing and the pictures he’s taken where I look amazing.

It’s a lot like learning a dance, but the flow is more like power yoga, and the moves themselves—they’re just cool.

He does like to make me suffer a little, holding low lunges until my feet are shaking while he lifts my arms higher or fixes my hand positions. I draw the line when he offers to spar, though. Not interested.

“Kung Fu is a fighting style.”

“Oh? I thought it was a martial art .”

“Bring that smart mouth over here and say that again,” he’ll say, or something like it.

But I’ll just wink and move into the next position for him to fix.

His yoga is coming along, too. By the end of the next week, he surprises me, by turning a bridge into a full wheel. A gorgeous bend of his entire back wherein his shirt falls to cover half his face and expose his entire torso .

“Have you been practicing that?” I ask, astonished.

“I saw it online, and I was like—I could do that easy when I was ten, so I tried it. Cracked a few bones, but here I am.”

“You’re thriving, babe,” I say, and shut my mouth because I don’t ever call him that. Sam when I’m feeling sweet or needy, jackass when I’m not, but babe? Babe ?

Lucky me, he doesn’t seem to notice.

He carefully lowers himself out of the pose after a few seconds, landing flat on the mat with his knees bent. The need to straddle him is semi-urgent. I check the time and try to make a game plan for how to distract myself from thoughts like that for the next half hour.

Last night when he was here, I was so horny, I almost turned out the studio lights and took my chances of getting caught deep throating him on a yoga mat, but I think he saw I was losing it and decided to teach me how to do something called a butterfly kick.

Now, I wasn’t automatically gifted at that , but Sam said I wasn’t bad.

And it was definitely difficult enough to distract me.

Fuck, when he does it, though, he looks like he’s floating for two seconds before he lands.

It’s amazing.

He’s…kind of amazing.

The only issue I’m having besides the fact that I used to fuck his dad, is I think I’m way more into him than he is to me, which is truly unlike me.

Not that I’ve tested the theory. I barely let the man breathe. I just—can’t. I’ve never really binged anything—not carbs or tequila or TV, but the way I’m gorging myself on this guy is bordering on obsessive.

We’re not sharing locations or anything, but if he offered, I totally would. He hasn’t offered.

“Wanna try something different?” I ask so I don’t have to think about where he is when he’s not with me .

“Such as?”

“Double plank?”

“Hm?” he asks with a frown.

“You do a plank, and I get on top of you and do a plank. Just reversed.”

He grins, and I like it. When he smiles at me, I feel like I’m doing something proactive with my life. It’s like I have a sense of purpose again. “Sure.”

“Don’t drop me,” I warn him.

He gives me a dismissive look. “Who are you talking to?”

“Someone who acts like a small child sometimes.”

“Don’t tempt me, then.”

I stand up. “Okay, well, do it.”

“What direction do you want me to go?” he asks.

“Um, parallel with the mirror. Let me set up a shot, though.”

“You sure you don’t want to go to New York for a few weeks and get your picture taken a couple thousand times?” he asks as I prop my phone up by the studio mirror to capture him in the frame.

“This is different.”

“How’s that?” he asks.

Because this is fun. “It’s exercise.”

“My dad wanted me to try talking you into going back to work when he set this up, you know.”

I freeze and stare at him. “He did?”

Sam nods, and I can’t read the expression on his face any more than I ever could. “Is he a good manager?” he asks.

“Um…yeah.”

“So…it’s not some issue with him you’re having that’s making you not want to work?”

I might be sick if he keeps asking questions like this. I shake my head.

“Do you like him? My dad? ”

“Do you?” I ask instead of drinking that poison.

He shrugs. “We’ve had our ups and downs. He was never around much. Always traveling, and even when he was in town he worked a lot. I always suspected he had another family out there somewhere. Or at least—you know—another life he was living. With someone else.”

I keep my face blank, but at the same time, I realize that if he asks me outright, I’ll tell him the truth.

I like Samuel a lot, but I’m not in too far gone territory—yet.

At least I don’t think I am, although this conversation definitely has me feeling some extremely strong feelings. “Does he?” I ask.

“I did confront him about it once. There were a lot of pictures of him with this one model named Elizabeth who lived in London. And he was in London a lot . I was pretty convinced it was her.”

“And?”

“He denied it. Said my mom was the only one for him. That he would never.”

I nod.

“Not sure I believe him, though,” Sam adds.

“Why not?”

“Because he gave me everything I ever asked for after that.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know who I’m talking about? Elizabeth Cain?”

“I’ve met her,” I say.

“You ever see her with my dad?”

“I mean—we’ve—yeah. But not like—not like the way you’re saying.”

Samuel takes a huge breath, and his shoulders drop about six inches.

“I’ve been in a few shows with her. Marcus is always at the shows, but in terms of seeing them like together together—” That was me .

But it could be Elizabeth, too. I suspect Marcus sleeps with a lot of people, but the man is really fucking discreet. And I’m kind of thanking God for that right now.

“Anyway,” Sam says, like he’s shaking off the thought. “What do you want me to do?”

“Partner plank,” I remind him. “And I need you to focus.”

Samuel puts himself into a strong, perfect plank, which is still his best pose.

I walk over to him and stand next to him facing his feet for a moment while I try to figure out the best way to accomplish this.

Hands first, I think. Stepping over his back to straddle him, I bend forward and put my hands on his ankles. “You good? Holding steady?” I ask.

“Yep. I could do this all day.”

“Okay, well, here I come.”

I put the toes of one foot on his shoulder and find my balance before lifting my other leg off the floor. I check our reflection, and my ass is up way too high, so I readjust my hands and feet until I’m fully extended, the tops of my feet on his shoulders.

“Nice,” he says, checking us out.

“Look how cute we are. Oh, shit, am I allowed to say that?”

He laughs, and it’s nice to hear after all that heavy shit just now.

“Where’d you get the idea for this?” he asks.

“It’s just partner yoga. It’s a whole thing. Like goat yoga.”

“They have classes for this too?” he asks.

Unlike him, I cannot hold a plank forever, but I brace my core and steady my breath. “Yeah. You wanna go to one?”

“Me? Am I your partner?”

My elbows nearly give way with the full frontal assault of the question, and I figure it’s time to climb down. I’m not gentle about it, springing my toes off his back and landing with both my feet on the floor at once .

He makes an oomph sound, and his body wobbles slightly, but once I’m off, he lowers to the floor and rolls onto his side, knocking my leg out from under me, sending me directly to my ass.

He laughs, and I shove his hip. “Jackass.” But I smile, too.

“Wanna try it with me on top?”

“This is not therapeutic,” I say. “We’re moving on.”

“No, come here. I’ve got one.” Samuel sits up and extends his legs. “Forward fold. Do it with me.”

I sigh, but sit, touching the soles of my feet to his. “This is so basic.”

He reaches for my hands.

“Straighten your back and do it right, at least,” I tell him.

“ I’m the jackass?”

I swear to God, I can’t wipe the smile off my face.

We raise our arms over our heads, extending our backs and inhaling. He curls his toes over mine like a little toe hug, and I’m positive I turn beet red. Exhaling we bend, clasping hands in mid-air like we choreographed it and fold over our legs.

“Maybe we should hold elbows,” I say, feeling like we could do better.

“I could try,” he says because his hamstring is better but still kinda sucks.

Our hands climb their way up each other’s forearms until we’ve got our hands wrapped around elbows.

“Yikes,” he says.

“You feel that, huh?”

“Yep.”

I glance up, and his head is about a foot from mine. “If we could do the splits we could make this really interesting,” I note.

He huffs. “I’ll work on it in my spare time.”

“Work on it at your place?” I ask. “After this?”

He glances up at me now. “Your friends don’t miss you yet? ”

“Are you sick of me?” I ask in response because I’ve been lowkey worried about that for around ten days now.

“Nope,” he says.

“Then you’re just calling me out. Nice.”

“Is this about Hemsworth?” he asks.

Thor Two is up next on our watch list, and I did express a preference for Hemsworth over Evans, but only because it seemed like he had a better sense of humor. “Totally,” I tell him.

“Well, I feel stretched and super balanced,” he says.

“Can you show me a roundhouse kick?”

“Sure,” he says. “I’ll even let you kick me.”

“Oh my God, yes. That would be amazing. Let me start a new video.”

Samuel giggles like a little girl. It’s too funny.

“Knock that shit off.”

I shake my head.

“I’m trying to watch this.”

“So am I,” I say, verging on tears while I tickle his nutsack.

He got hard, and I couldn’t help it. Now his thighs are clenched, trapping my hand, but that only makes me practically unable to stop.

We’re on his couch. My head is resting on a pillow on his stomach, and in fairness, he’s now tickling me, too.

I’m a little too turned on to scream and make him stop, but I’m definitely able to return the torture.

“Stop!” he yells at me, managing to deepen his voice into more of a bark.

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