Page 60 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)

CALYX

four years later

“ Y es! Hold it! Right there. You two look amazing.”

In order to make a heart in scorpion with Samuel, I have to be in a handstand while he’s in a shoulder stand. Priya is talking so much, it’s nearly impossible to focus. I want to laugh, I want to cry, I want to shout a string of curses because balancing on sand is challenging as fuck.

These photos better be amazing.

Our partner yoga game is nothing short of epic. I’ve managed to monetize it—obviously. Our collabs and sponsorships are paying for this vacation—the wedding in its entirety.

“Got it. I got it.”

Engaging my abs, I lower myself gently out of the extremely difficult pose, my knees landing on the beach. When I look up, Samuel’s done the same, and he’s waving Priya over to check the pictures she took. I grin proudly. He gets that from me—the desire to get the perfect shot.

It’s his livelihood now, too.

We’ve become one of those disgusting couples who leverage social media to keep us afloat financially. Well, afloat might be putting it mildly. Who knew a UFC fighter in a relationship with a gender ambiguous model half his size would be a huge engagement magnet.

I mean, technically, I did. I knew.

And no, I’m not upset—not one bit—that Samuel chose to retire early.

Two years and a title as a professional fighter meant he’d reached the pinnacle of his fighting career, and it wasn’t hard to convince him that defending his title was a waste of time and energy because even he knew he’d lose it eventually and that’s no way to go out.

Always leave them wanting more isn’t just a saying—it’s a lifestyle. And, lucky me—no cauliflower ears. Just one or two lumps that I can overlook now that he’s let his hair grow out enough to cover the tops.

He shoves it out of his eyes to examine the photos. “ Yes ,” he says in that victorious way he does when he’s incredibly impressed with himself. “You nailed it angel.”

“How do you look?” I ask.

“Perfect. Obviously.”

“What’s next?” Pri asks.

“I take him back to the room and get him washed up,” Sam says as he hands her phone back to her.

“Mm…can I come take pictures of that?”

I glare up at her. “Excuse you. Don’t you have your own bungalow?”

“Just offering,” she says. “I mean—if it’s not on Instagram, did it really happen?”

“You’d be amazed how much doesn’t make it onto our grid,” Samuel says, which is almost exactly what I was about to say. This is a by-product of living together since we were boyfriend babies.

After I got back from London following that Thanksgiving when we made up and decided to give ourselves a real shot at having a relationship, we practically glued ourselves together.

We’ve spent exactly ten nights apart in more than four years, and all of them were due to travel and scheduling conflicts.

I modeled off and on for one more year, during which, Malcolm and Ryan finally figured out the whole investment thing and really started making my money grow.

Meanwhile, Samuel won the fight he was supposed to lose not too long after we came back from our Christmas in Hawaii and proved to his gym, his mom, and maybe most importantly to me that he didn’t suck.

He wasn’t just some dumb kid chasing a silly dream—he was an extremely gifted fighter.

Smart, athletic—talented and extremely driven to win.

He’s my inspiration. He kind of always has been, though. Besides my mom shoving me into the modeling world when I was five, Samuel is the single biggest influence on my life and the way I’ve turned out, which is a better person than I ever thought I could be.

He moved into my townhouse before that fight, and we’ve lived together ever since. We did end up moving closer to the park though—to Alamo Square where Bailey, Ryan, and Mal live—so we can take Beauty on the long runs she needs.

Siva, for her part, was about as helpless to Beauty’s charms as I was to Samuel’s. She never misses a chance to snuggle up to the dog while she’s sleeping and give herself a nice little dog bed to rest on. I swear she only notices me when I feed her these days.

Samuel stands first and offers me a hand up. I take it, and he pulls too hard, making me slam into his chest. It’s a common move, but it makes me laugh every time. I should make him carry me to the bungalow through sand. It would serve him right.

“Where’s Rachel?” I ask Priya .

She gestures in the general direction of the resort a little ways down the beach. “She said she wanted to take a nap before tonight, but I think she’s probably sneaking in another massage.”

“You gonna join her?”

She gives me a side-eye. “I’ll see her in a little while. Don’t be so nosy.”

“Oh, but inviting yourself to film our shower is perfectly appropriate.”

She shrugs. “I don’t make the rules.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” I tell her, reaching out for a hug.

She squeezes me and Samuel and then heads back up the beach. I look up at the man who’ll be my husband this time tomorrow, provided nothing disastrous happens.

He’s already coming in for a kiss. I barely have time to gasp before his mouth is on mine and I’m bending back in his arms to receive his tongue.

He barely grunts when I swing one leg around him and then the other, forcing him to hold me up against him. His hand is down the back of my skimpy swimsuit in half a second.

Our bachelor parties are separate, which I think is stupid, but it means I have to leave him in a few hours, and I won’t see him again until the wedding.

Our guests get to move and mingle between the parties, but we’ll be stuck in separate bungalows.

I can’t remember who came up with that idea, but they might have underestimated our sex drives.

We have two weeks in the Maldives after this—alone—and I can’t fucking wait. But I am willing to wait this one more day—because it’s our wedding day. I never thought I’d be getting married. Not in a million years.

And I did try to talk Samuel out of it when he asked me last Christmas. We were here in Hawaii again—where we’ve come every year since we’ve been together. I told him we didn’t need a piece of paper. That I knew he loved me, and he didn’t have anything to prove.

But his argument was more convincing: “Prove it.”

Deep down, there was still something inside him—and there may still be—that thinks as easily as I chose him, I could choose something else.

What I hope he understands now, and I’ll be reiterating in my vows tomorrow, is that I never felt like I had a choice when it came to him.

He won me over completely. Body, mind, and heart.

I could no sooner choose something else than I could part with my arms or legs.

He’d have to be ripped away from me for me to ever consider letting go.

He’s my sun, my moon, my heartbeat and breath. He’s had me in a chokehold since the first kiss. Every kiss since has only tightened his grip.

I pull away from this one, breathless before kissing his cheek and resting my face in the bend of his neck. He presses his lips to my bare shoulder and lets out a long breath. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you, too.”

“Remember that when I get you in the shower, okay? I have a lot of nervous energy to burn.”

My asshole clenches, and my dick pulses in anticipation. “I’d love to be able to walk down the aisle tomorrow without wincing.”

“I can’t promise anything. No pain, no gain.”

I snort a laugh against his skin. “Take me back to the room. I’ve got sand all over me.”

“Don’t worry, angel kitten. I’ll take care of every last grain of it,” he promises.