Page 5 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)
CALYX
I ’m two martinis in when Marcus joins me for my private dance party, and I’m ready to let loose. I’m choosing myself tonight. Choosing to enjoy this for exactly what it is: a sexy man enjoying every superficial inch of me.
The first time I chose to fuck Marcus was after dancing with him at a club in Milan. We were there for spring fashion week during my first year as his client. After the shows, we went out to a huge club, and he shocked the hell out of me by joining me on the dance floor.
He’d been behind me, his hands on my hips and occasionally running across my exposed abs. I thought he was only being friendly until my ass grazed his obvious erection. I’d jumped away to look at him in surprise.
He’d looked sheepish.
So I kissed him.
We went through the whole thing—he’d never done this before—he was sorry—he was so embarrassed.
When I kissed him again, though, he’d whimpered.
He doesn’t whimper anymore.
His hands on my hips tonight are confident and proprietary, knowing exactly where he wants me—grinding my ass against his hard length. He tongues and sucks my neck as we sway to the trance music in my dim living room.
I’m only wearing panties and a thin half-zipped hoodie. He’s got one hand on my chest, pinching my nipple and the other down the front of my underwear, working my cock to get it hard.
He’ll want me to come tonight. It might even be the case that I’ll have to come before he fucks me.
I shut my eyes, leaning back on him, trying to lose myself in the music, the memory of that first time, and the warmth of his mouth and hands when I let him use me.
“Talk to me,” I say, needing to hear how much he wants me. How beautiful he thinks I am. How grateful he is to touch me.
He obliges. Whispering filthy things in my ear about my body, the ways he wants to fill my mouth, my hole.
He reminds me of the time he was so hard up for me after an outdoor editorial shoot in Toronto that he bent me over a literal bale of hay and fucked me in a barn.
“You were radiant. I couldn’t help myself. You’re fucking extraordinary.”
Eventually, with those words and the image of my fingers grasping at that bale of hay in my head, I come in his hand, and he takes me on the living room floor.
I wake up in my bed.
Marcus is already dressed, sitting on the edge of the mattress, his fingers combing through my hair. “So fucking beautiful.”
I understand this isn’t affection he’s expressing.
It’s appreciation. It’s meant to make me remember what he saw in me when he took me on as a client.
He’s reminding me he believes in me. For all his faults, Marcus values the way I look for more than one reason.
There’s some part of him that realizes there’s a person capable of good things inside the pretty package, too.
“You outta here?” I ask .
“In a minute. But I have a favor to ask.”
I scowl. I don’t want to get into another conversation about work. It’s too early, and I make it a point to do absolutely nothing I don’t want to do on Sundays.
He smooths out the lines between my eyes and says, “Nothing to do with modeling. I promise.”
“What, then?” I mumble.
“This might sound random but hear me out.”
“Okay.”
“My youngest son wants to be an MMA fighter.”
I laugh. I can’t help it.
He grins. “I know. I know. He’s young. Over-indulged, I admit. We’re humoring him for now, but my point is he got hurt.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I try to control my amusement.
“He partially tore his hamstring about a month ago, and he wants to get back to training.”
“You’re right,” I say, frowning. “This is very random.”
“He said he’s interested in trying out yoga. To improve his flexibility and balance out his regimen or something.”
“Oh.” I stretch my arms over my head. “Did you offer my services?”
“I did. And I gave him your number.”
“And here I thought you only saw me as a pretty face and a hot piece of ass.”
He grins, and it’s a nice, warm grin. “I listen to you occasionally, too.”
I can practically feel my eyes light up. “Are you giving me a job? A project? Marcus, you shouldn’t have.”
He arches a brow. “You’re gonna make this easy? Give me no shit whatsoever?”
“That depends. Are we talking—he’s gonna come to my classes, or I get a private client? ”
“He requires a lot of attention. He’s never really thrived in a classroom environment.”
“You’re actually encouraging your baby boy to be an MMA fighter?” I ask, letting go of my stretch and melting back into the mattress.
“There’s a point where every parent has to admit defeat. His mother and I crossed that point when he was sixteen.”
“How old is he now?” I ask.
“He’ll be twenty-one in a couple of weeks. We’re hoping he’ll grow out of this, or he won’t be quite good enough to make it and gives up, but we’re not there yet. And this injury only seems to be fueling his fire.”
“You’re afraid he’ll hurt himself again?”
“Somebody has to be since he doesn’t care.”
“If he’s skipping flexibility training, he’s setting himself up for another injury for sure.”
“You’ll probably hate him,” Marcus says.
“Do you hate him?” I ask.
“No, not at all. He’s just…a little all over the place. He’s a nice guy, but he can be stubborn. Kind of a hothead.”
“What’s he gonna think of me?” I ask with a grin.
Marcus chuckles softly. “I told him you were rare.”
I nuzzle my face into the pillow, hiding my smile. “Is he like—super jacked?”
“He’s pretty jacked.”
“Love it. I can’t wait.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Absolutely. I love a challenge. And yoga.” I’m not sure how I feel about hot-headed MMA fighters, but I’ve never met one, so… “Tell him to call me. We’ll set something up.”
“I will. Thank you,” he says, but keeps staring down at me.
“What?” I ask.
“One more favor? ”
Sighing, I give him a questioning look.
He strokes my cheek, his fingertips grazing my hair. “I’m not trying to push you, I promise. But this face is too perfect to hide away. Will you think about what’s holding you back?”
I drop my gaze, remembering the last runway show I walked and getting the same sick drop in my stomach I got that day. Because it’s not like I don’t know. “Yeah,” I tell him.
“Because if there’s anything I can do…”
“You’re already doing it. Thanks for giving me something to do while I figure all this out.”
His thumb draws a line over my lips. It’s such a nice gesture, I want to give him something . “I’ll do Italian Vogue ,” I say.
He looks shocked.
“But only if they can wait a few months. I want to do this thing with your kid first, and then…we can go to Europe if you want. I’ll take a few jobs.”
“Calyx. I swear to God, I wasn’t angling for this.”
“No, but money isn’t infinite, and I know I need to work. Just…give me?—”
“A few months. Absolutely.” He takes me by the neck and pulls our faces together for a soft, quick kiss. “Thank you.”
I smile. “Thank you .”
He lets me go, gently setting my head back on the pillow. “Go back to sleep. Thanks for having me.”
“Thanks for putting up with me.”
“It’s a chore, but…” He plants one last kiss on my forehead and stands. I watch him grab his packed bag and leave the bedroom before I turn over in bed, congratulate myself for being a good client, and close my eyes again.
My phone wakes me up. It’s a series of texts from an unknown number.
Unknown
I have a follow up appointment tomorrow. If I’m cleared, I’m hoping we can get started Tuesday or Wednesday.
Unknown
My dad gave me your number. I’m interested in yoga.
Unknown
Or Pilates, whatever you think.
Unknown
Sorry, this is Saber. I’m Marcus Ray’s son. Recovering from a torn hamstring. Did he mention me to you?
The texts keep appearing before I have a chance to respond to any of them.
Unknown
Let’s start over.
I manage to get a word in, but it’s a quick one.
Me
Hey.
A few seconds go by before he responds with:
Unknown
Hey
Me
He told me. Can you meet Tuesday at six? I work at Essential Fitness in the Haight.
Unknown
Yeah, perfect. Thanks!
Me
See you then
Unknown
How do you spell your name?
I laugh .
Me
Calyx. Just ask for me when you get there.
Unknown
Cool. Thanks again. Do you want me to bring a note from my doctor or anything?
That seems like the professional thing to want, so I say yes.
Unknown
Will do. See you Tuesday at six.
I thumbs up the message and save his contact information. But I’m sorry— Saber? Really? I can’t remember his name—I was barely awake when Marcus was telling me all the things, but I’m pretty sure I would have remembered if he called him Saber .
Instead, I save him as Marcus’s Baby Boy and get up to take a long shower.
That night, I have dinner with Rachel and Priya, which is great because I’ve been online all afternoon looking up hamstring injuries—what causes them, how best to rehabilitate them, how to prevent future injuries, and wouldn’t you fucking know it—yoga and Pilates are basically the answer to everything.
Yoga to loosen them up—Pilates to balance the core and quad strength.
I’m loving this, and I want to talk about it. But my girlfriends get stuck on the MMA fighter of it all. I should have predicted this .
Rachel tries to look up “Saber MMA,” but comes up empty, which is just as well.
I don’t want to have any more prejudgments than I already do.
I don’t technically have permission from the gym to offer personal training services, but the owner and manager like me—the manager likes me a little too much probably—so if it’s just the one person on a trial basis, I’m hoping he’ll be cool with me and “my client” taking up some space for an hour a few times a week.
“I’m assuming he’s straight,” Priya’s saying.
Rachel laughs. “With a name like Saber? I’m not sure it’s safe to assume.”
Priya cracks up, and I join in. It’s too ridiculous. “He’s a baby,” I remind them. “He graduated high school like twenty minutes ago.”
“Have you ever been with someone not fifteen years older than you?” Pri asks.
“Define ‘been with.’”
“Fucked more than once.”