Page 48 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)
CALYX
M y plan to keep busy and pretend like Samuel doesn’t exist today falls to pieces by ten a.m. He left really early, before the sun was even up.
I haven’t asked many questions about how the expo works, but the moment I’m home with my cat, I’m flooded with them.
How many fights are there? What time are they?
When is his? What time will he be finished?
And on and on and on. I don’t even know what he’s wearing.
It was too dark to see when he left. And is he going to change clothes once he gets there?
I text him to get a few things squared away in my head.
Me
Do you know what time you’re fighting yet?
Samuel
Hey! My match is at four.
Me
And it’s the same guy you were planning for?
Samuel
Yep. No worries
Me
How do you know?
Samuel
Why don’t you let me worry about it, angel. Have you checked in with Rachel and Pri? What are they up to today?
Fucking perfect, stupid man. Ugh . I hate myself for falling for him so hard.
Me
Siva misses me. We might just take a lot of naps.
Samuel
You can bring her over, you know? I don’t think Beauty’s gonna eat her.
Me
You can bring Beauty over too.
The truth is we stay at his place most nights because it’s closer to his gym. Not just because of his dog.
Me
Do you have to fight more than once today?
Samuel
Fuck no. I promise this sport isn’t half as crazy as you think.
Me
Oh okay.
Samuel
I love you. Go do something fun. I’ll see you tonight around nine. Just tell me where to show up.
Me
I love you too. DON’T break a leg.
Samuel
I do take a nap with Siva, but only for about forty-five minutes, and then I text Rachel. She and Priya live together, and they’re just getting up and moving, but they offer to come over once they pull themselves together.
I accept. It gives me a reason to shower and straighten up. It also gives me a reason to make Bellinis.
I order some pastries and cut fruit for delivery, figuring the food will show up before the girls do, and I’m right, but they surprise me by being right behind it.
It’s just now occurring to me I don’t really want to talk to Rachel since her little lecture at the bar two weekends ago, but surely she won’t bring it up again today of all days.
I’ll just get them talking about whatever they got up to last night, and hopefully we’ll all be buzzed enough that whatever anyone says won’t be as annoying.
Priya gets to me first and gives me a very nice hug. “Hanging in there?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. It’s just past noon, and I’ve taste-tested the Bellinis thoroughly, so I’m doing okay.
Neither one of them is wearing their usual Saturday hangover clothes.
Rachel has on high-waisted jeans over stiletto boots with a red spandex top.
Her hair and makeup are done. She’s even wearing jewelry.
I look back at Priya and notice she’s also done up for a public appearance.
“I didn’t realize you thought I was inviting you out. I made Bellinis.”
“Oh!” Rachel says. “I’ll take one.”
Her heels click on the floor as she heads for the kitchen. Priya drapes her arm over my shoulders. “We want to go to the fights,” she tells me.
The words feel like a kick to the balls. “What?” I choke out.
Rachel speaks up. “I think it could be fun.”
“Fun?” I’m too stunned to form sentences.
“I totally respect your decision not to go,” Rachel says. “We both do, so don’t get us wrong. But we just think it’d be nice for Sam to have some friends there cheering for him.”
I’m gaping. Still speechless until, “You were my friends first,” I blurt out.
Priya says, “This is us being your friends. We’ll be there for you.”
“You just wanna go pick up men. You’ll probably be too busy flirting to even see when he’s fighting.”
“We can hold the flirting until after he wins. It was a long night,” Rachel says.
“So why are you even here?” I ask. “He’s fighting in like two hours.”
Rachel sips her Bellini while she levels a look at me. “There’s still time for you to change your mind.”
“I—” Stepping away from Priya, I glare at them both. It was really hard for me to decide what I needed to do today, and I’m still not convinced I’m doing the right thing, but I’ve come to terms with it. This feels like the dirtiest of dirty tricks.
Pri takes over. “Look—I know you don’t want to watch the fight. I totally get that. But it’s only gonna be like twenty minutes long start to finish if that. He really wants you there.”
“How do you even know that?”
“He told me when we were dancing at the party. ”
“He just came out and said oh, gee, it’d be so nice if Calyx would come to my fight?”
“Well, technically, I brought it up, but he did say he’d be a little bummed if you didn’t want to come. But that he understood,” she tags on at the last possible second.
“He does understand,” I assure her, the same way he’d reassured me.
“They’ve got places where they warm up and get ready. You could see him there and be there when he’s done. He’d probably be really happy to see you.”
My mind feels like it’s being repeatedly bitch-slapped. “So I can what? Just show up there and be like—hey—that hot MMA guy—he’s my boy friend, can I wait here? I’m not sure you two are aware of the culture, but I don’t think that would go over well.”
“He didn’t tell you to stay away or something did he?”
“Who, Samuel ? Look, I love him, but he’s kind of oblivious to the fact that I’m not trophy wife material.”
“I mean,” Priya says. “You are a model.”
“He’s not out,” I argue.
Rachel frowns. “He looked pretty out a couple weeks ago.”
“Those were my friends though. Not his trainers. Not his teammates or his opponents.”
“You know what else he told me while we were dancing?”
I turn to Priya with my arms crossed protectively over my chest. “What?”
“That he’s used to being underestimated. He likes it.”
As annoying and uncomfortable as it is to acknowledge that being queer would make people underestimate Samuel, I know from life experience it’s true—and probably even truer for male athletes. “I don’t know,” I say. “He’s really focused. I don’t want to fuck with that. ”
“Then don’t see him before. Be there after to lick his wounds,” Priya says with a wink.
I hate that she’s making sense. I hate that I’m even considering this.
“Here,” Rachel says, shoving a Bellini in my face and then handing one to Priya after I take mine. “There’s not even a small part of you that’s curious about knowing what he’s capable of in a cage match?”
I flick a glare her way. “I thought you said I didn’t have to watch.”
“Since when did you grow such delicate sensibilities?” she challenges.
I sip my drink and lick my lips. She’s not wrong. I might be pretty, but I’m not delicate. My favorite parts of the Marvel movies are the fight scenes. Blood doesn’t freak me out. Gore doesn’t either. But it’s Samuel. My Samuel.
Suddenly I realize I can’t not go.
I can’t not be the first one to hug him when he steps out of that cage—win or lose. Or at least—one of the first few people—I don’t know what level of hugger he is with his trainers and teammates, but I do know he likes my hugs. A lot.
“Okay,” I say. “I think I can do it.”
Priya claps. “I knew it!”
“How?” I ask.
“Because he’s your l-o-y-l.”
“And,” Rachel says, “If anyone has shit to say about it, they’ll have to go through me.”
“And Sam,” I add. “But to be clear, just because he’s the love of my life doesn’t mean I plan to make out with him in front of anyone, so don’t be assholes.”
They promise not to be and then come with me into my closet where I finish my Bellini and get dressed .
This is one of those times where I have to decide whether to try and blend in and therefore fail miserably, or lean in to who I am.
It’s an amateur MMA tournament, and logic dictates the dress code is casual, which leads me to don my newest, nicest Tom Ford suit in black, a white satin button down shirt open to my breastbone, and a gold necklace that rests above my collarbone.
I leave my hair touchable in loose waves and refine my face with enough product to make myself look airbrushed and flawless.
I lean in hard .
I even wear boots with two inch stacked heels. I always walk better when I feel taller.
When I look like this, people look at me like I’m someone they should recognize. Like a famous person they’re trying to place. If looks can be used as a weapon, they can also be used as a shield.
In my case, today, I’m using mine as both.
Priya and Rachel clap when I come downstairs, ready to go. As we’re leaving the townhouse, Rachel says, “Feels like we’re on entourage duty.”
“You asked me to come,” I say, sounding more blasé than I feel. “I hope you don’t expect me to drive.”
Priya cackles and opens the back door of Rachel’s car for me, and then we’re on our way.
The expo is being held in an old auditorium near the bridge, and the parking lot is packed.
We walk into a large lobby with concession stands and other miscellaneous vendors.
The crowd is a mixed bag of young and old.
Lots of t-shirts, beer bellies, and ill-fitting jeans on men, and very tight garments on women.
I’m not the only person in a suit, nor are Rachel and Priya completely alone in having any taste, but I get the types of looks I was expecting.
Breathing deeply, I ask, “Now what?”
“Now we find a seat,” Rachel says.
There’s one octagon at the center of the arena, surrounded with nets and chains.
It’s not the type of venue that features a Jumbotron for better viewing, and I’m glad about that.
The tickets were general admission, so sitting or standing appears to be up to the onlookers, and I’d much prefer to sit.
“I feel like we could do better,” Priya says, examining the other seats when we file into an empty row a safe distance from the cage.