Page 46 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)
SAMUEL
“ I need. A decent. Meal.”
Calyx is standing in front of my refrigerator unimpressed with the containers of grilled chicken and Greek yogurt.
I don’t blame him. I’m sick of the shit, too, but with my fight in three days, and my weigh in less than forty-eight hours from now, I can’t have any carbs around me, or I’ll go fucking apeshit.
I’m lean as hell, but Calyx has also lost five pounds he wants back immediately. He doesn’t believe me that it’s just water weight. He thinks his muscles are wasting, but really he just looks cut and angry.
“Have something delivered,” I tell him. “But I’m going on a walk when it gets here.”
“You’re gonna make me eat alone because you have no self-control?”
I shake my head from the yoga mat on the living room floor where I’m working through back bends and forward folds.
I’m in a wide stance with my hands on my right calf, determined as hell to rest my forehead on my knee like he can.
It also happens to be a great leg stretch, hitting my hamstrings and inner thighs .
I don’t think I’ve stopped working out in some form or another for the last ten days except to sleep. Best sleep of my life.
The only thing hanging in the balance is whether or not Calyx is coming to my fight. I’m pretty sure he won’t, but he has yet to give me a definite answer.
I’ve told him I want him there, but only if he won’t wig out on me. He says he wants to be supportive but also can’t guarantee he won’t try to drag me out of the venue and make a scene.
I mean, I’m pretty sure he’ll be chill if he does end up coming, but he’s been kind of all over the place with me lately, and I get it.
There’s not a day I come home without bruises.
What he doesn’t know is I’m also in pain.
Not terrible oh shit pain, but I’m beat up as hell.
Exhausted. And I’d kill someone for a loaf of bread.
The refrigerator door closes. “I’m sorry. I give up.” He’s already on his phone, probably ordering a juicy burger or some shit he knows will kill me.
Because I like to torture myself, I ask what he’s getting.
“Just a sandwich,” he says.
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you want…like…a salad or something?”
“Nope.”
“On Monday, you can stay in bed all day—I’ll feed you chips and cookies and pizza…”
“Stop talking about food,” I say.
“Sorry. Want some water?”
“I’m fine,” I say, moving over to my other leg.
“You look great,” he says.
“Thanks, baby.”
He walks over to my mat and puts slight pressure in the middle of my back. “Relax here,” he says.
I exhale and work to let the tension beneath his palm go. My forehead grazes my knee .
“Fuck yeah,” I whisper.
“God, you’re hot when you’re flexible.”
“Five more pounds,” I tell him.
“I’ll be ready after my sandwich.”
He was right about the amount of positions I’d be able to come up with.
Well, that’s not true, I’ve thought of plenty, but the ones that require me to do all the work, which is the goal, are limited either by physics or my own creativity.
The best position is the one where I hold him up, so I guess I’m getting a little boring.
Not gonna lie, I’ll be glad for Monday, too, where I can make love to him like it’s not a sport.
Preferably without the heater on full blast.
Until then, I have to multi-task. I thought he’d have turned me away by now, but nope.
Calyx takes a shower while he waits on his food. I stay on the mat and keep moving. As promised, when his sandwich arrives, I put my shoes on, get Beauty on her leash and head out.
Because my brain is also moving nonstop, I give my mom a call.
“Sam! Hi! What are you up to?”
“Just getting into shape. My fight’s this weekend.”
“I know. It’s on my calendar.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re coming, though, does it?”
“Oh, no.” She laughs. “No, no, no. I just wrote it down so I’ll know when to start dosing myself with Xanax.”
I laugh. “I promise I’m gonna be fine. My trainers said I’m good to go.”
“They think you match up well with the other fighter?”
“They think I’m better.”
She blows out a breath.
I’m chronically underestimated, but I don’t really see why. I’m tall. I’m strong. I’ve been training non-stop. I’m determined as fuck. But clearly I have something to prove, and here it is .
The secret, I think, is the killer instinct. I’m a nice guy. That’s been verified. I even have a history of being goofy. But if there’s one thing Javier’s worked with me on the most, it’s tapping into my rage.
Now, I’ll grant, I don’t have a lot to rage about, so I’ve gotta dig pretty deep, but if I think about the world at large—from online assholes to people who don’t believe in science or march at hate rallies, I can get pretty pissed off.
I just sort of imagine I’m fighting someone who embodies all the shitty things I would change if I could.
But when all else fails, and my trainers tell me to go harder, I imagine my opponent’s hands on Calyx’s body, and that never fails to push me over the top. “I haven’t lost yet,” I tell my mom.
“Don’t jinx it, Samuel.”
“It’s not a jinx, Mom. It’s confidence. It’s mindset.”
“Right, right, I’m sure. Are you doing anything other than training? Getting out at all? Seeing the sights? Meeting people?”
“I actually have met someone,” I tell her.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, at the gym.”
“Am I going to have to drag this out of you? Or is she not all that special?”
I haven’t thought about women in so long the question hits me out of the blue. “Um, very special, but not…it’s a man.”
“Oh.” She’s silent, then, “ Oh. Samuel…”
“It’s not another fighter or anything, he’s different. He’s…anyway we’re together. We’ve been together for almost two months.”
“I—a man ?”
I make an executive decision not to tell her who it is, because she might know about him, or even have met him, and also I don’t need her Instagram stalking my boyfriend quite yet.
I’m hoping she can meet him in person at Thanksgiving with me by his side so we can experience all the weirdness of it together because it’s gonna be weird, guaranteed.
My dad might have some unkind thoughts about it—not necessarily about me being bi, but about me fucking his rare and precious client.
Breaking the news in person should keep things polite and easy.
“Has this always been something you were…interested in?”
“Since I saw him the first time? Pretty much. And now it’s like—I’m happy.”
“You— sound happy.”
“Well, we make a good team.”
“Does he have a name?” she asks.
“He does. Maybe you can set an extra plate at Thanksgiving?”
“Oh—we’re that serious.”
“Yeah,” I say grinning to myself. “We are.”
“Okay.”
I roll my eyes because I think she believes that as much as she believes I can win a fight without getting my ass handed to me.
“I thought you were trying to move to Texas.”
I don’t think I ever said that specifically—just that there were some good gyms in Texas. “Well, if it comes to that—I’ll figure it out, but for now I’m here, and it’s all good.”
“It certainly sounds like it. Does your father know?”
“Not yet. Let me tell him, though. Okay? I will soon.”
“You want me to keep this a secret ?”
“Not for long, I promise. Just let me get through this weekend—let us all get through this weekend, and I can do it right.”
“Oh, lord. The last time I kept a secret from him was when I was pregnant with you, and I think I lasted three hours.”
I laugh. “If it helps, just remember it’s not cool to out someone. ”
“You— ugh . Sam . I will wring your neck for this.”
“You got this, Mom. You’re tough.”
She sighs, but it sounds more indulgent than anything else. “I can do it. Under protest, but since this is the first time you ever asked me to keep a secret, I don’t want to fuck it up.”
I grin as Beauty and I reach the bottom of the hill. “That’s the spirit. I’m gonna go now. I have a hill to scale.”
“Good luck this weekend, sweetie. Be careful. Protect your head.”
“I promise,” I tell her. “Love you.”
“Love you, too. Text me as soon as it’s over.”
“Will do.”
We hang up, and I look down at Beauty as I pocket my phone. She looks up at me like she knows what she’s in for. An uphill run before I stick her in an overheated apartment.
“Hey,” I tell her. “You wanted me , remember?”
I won’t be able to say for sure until after the fight, but my weight cutting strategy has me in much better shape on weigh in day than the rest of my teammates.
One of the women looks like she’s about to pass out, and two of the guys are shaking on their feet as they stand on the scale.
I feel fine, and I make weight at one eighty-four. A pound to spare.
What the rest of them will do now is stuff themselves stupid and over hydrate, but I’m planning a filling chowder and raw oyster dinner, half a baguette, and as much water as it takes without waterlogging myself.
I warned Calyx I didn’t want to have sex tonight—I want to use any pent-up energy toward the fights. We’ve fucked enough the last two weeks to have me doubting I’ve stored up all that much, but the oysters really do something to me, and my guy looks really good tonight.
He’s not wearing anything too fancy. White cashmere and jeans, all snug fitting despite his complaints that he’s too skinny. He’s not.
What he is, however, is quiet.
When we get to my place after a lackluster dinner conversation, he finally comes out with it. “I don’t think I can come tomorrow,” he says.
He’s standing at the kitchen island while I’m filling a glass of water from the fridge. I turn and give him a small smile. “I get it. I figured you wouldn’t.”
“I promise I only decided tonight,” he says.
I set my glass down on the island and move toward him. With my hands on his hips, I press my forehead to his and inhale his sweet scent. “It’s okay.”
“Are you sure? I’m rooting for you. I promise. I figure the odds of you dying or getting amnesia are probably pretty low, but I don’t think I can watch you like that.”
“Getting hit?”