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Page 9 of Gym Bros (Bay Area Bros #2)

My gaze flits to York’s husband. The huge dude with the man bun and tattoos—full sleeves that prove he knows exactly who he is.

He’d have to in order to get cohesive ink like that.

Admittedly, I don’t know much about the couple except what I’ve heard the announcers talk about during baseball games, which isn’t much.

For example, I know they were dating and then they were married.

What I see is a couple of dudes who couldn’t look less alike if they tried.

Gideon York is edgy, yeah, so I guess that makes sense, but he’s also a pretty boy with some definite feminine energy that doesn’t overwhelm the fact that he’s obviously a man.

He’s less confusing than Calyx, though .

The shot returns to the baseball diamond, and I look back down at my phone.

I wonder how old these videos are. If Calyx hasn’t been modeling since before summer, they have to be from before that.

I’m jealous of the amount of content. I would need someone following me around twenty-four seven to get this amount of footage.

Calyx’s photos are a mix of modeling shots and vistas from places he’s been.

He’s got the occasional photo that looks like he took himself.

There are a couple of women who pop up from time to time, both individually and separately.

I assumed he was gay, just based on—well—the whole package, but there are a few shots that have me questioning that, too.

I could picture him with a girl. Kind of.

In his candid shots, he’s got a more masculine bearing, but it’s subtle.

I can understand why Evan would question it.

I shake my head, realizing I need to be doing something else other than internet creeping on my yoga teacher, but I can’t help it. He’s fascinating.

I don’t know what’s worse though—losing myself in his IG feed or worrying about whether I’ll ever get back to the level of fighting I was at before I hurt myself.

Finally, I toss my phone aside and put all my attention on the game and my tacos. And then I start getting horny again. God, my life is pathetic.

I should go to bed and jerk off before I work myself all the way up to needing to call my mom again.

It’s a new day. A nice day. Once the smog burned off, I took a walk in Alamo Park, even jogging for a few short stints. Nothing hurts. I’m just tight from lack of use.

It’s a crisp, late September day bathed in sunlight, so all the moms and nannies are out with kids. Lots of dogs, too. I wish I had time for a dog. I mean, I do right now, but long-term, with the amount of time I spend at the gym…

No…I could probably have one. I live close enough to where I train. I’ve always wanted a big dog to wrestle with. Would I get a puppy, though? What if I’m healed before it’s house-trained? Do I have the patience to house train a puppy?

Fuck, I don’t know. I mean— I think I do, but I’m pretty sure my mom would feel differently.

Anyone I’ve ever started a fight with would, too.

But I only ever started fights with total assholes picking on other kids, so I don’t really see myself screaming at a little puppy for having an accident on a rug I don’t give a damn about.

By afternoon, I’ve made my way to the animal shelter.

It’s lowkey depressing as fuck. There’s a lot of pit mixes looking up at me with sad eyes, but I stop in front of a mutt that’s probably part German Shepherd, part Labrador, and who knows what else.

She’s got a reddish coat and a black spotted tongue, a longish snout and tall ears that are too big for her head.

She closes her mouth when our eyes meet and lock.

“Hey,” I say to her through the cage.

She doesn’t blink. I think we both gulp. Me from nerves, and her—well, I’m just imagining it, but it feels mutual.

I’ve heard when you meet your true love, you just know.

I think that’s probably bullshit. There’s too many people I’ve known in my life that didn’t much care for each other before they fell for each other—my mom and dad for example.

She thought he was an arrogant ass. But he knew. Or he claims he did.

I guess somebody has to. Like they get a feeling or whatever. A connection. A spark? A lightning bolt or Cupid’s arrow hits someone somewhere.

Anyway, this dog is the one. This nondescript mutt I’m gonna name Beauty because it’s in the eye of the beholder, right? She’s a bit of a mess, but with a bath and a few weeks of good meals, I think she’ll clean up nice.

She and I go to a small yard for a getting to know you session, but she’s clearly been here awhile. I sit on a low bench, and she stands between my legs, her head on my calf while I pet her and tell her not to worry. This is just a formality.

“So what do you like to do, huh? Chew stuff? Chase stuff? Long walks on the beach? I could probably manage that. You like peanut butter? ‘Cause I’m a big fan.”

She never stops staring at me.

I feel as desperate as she looks.

Yep, this is happening. I’m getting a dog.

Turns out, they let you just take the things home. I had to sign a few forms and pay a small fee, but Beauty and I walk out together and get into my car like I can totally be trusted to keep her alive.

She shakes all the way home. Once we get inside, I sit down on the floor with her and place a massive delivery order for dog food, toys, treats, a new collar, a leash, and a bed.

I go back and forth about a crate. I go ahead and get one with no intention of actually keeping her in it, but the lady at the shelter made it sound like I’d be an asshole not to have one. I also throw in carpet cleaner, poop bags, a pack of sponges, a brush, shampoo, the works.

If I forgot anything, I’m sure my Instagram ads will tell me later.

She and I spend awhile on the floor until I realize it’s almost five, and I’m supposed to go to the gym for more yoga.

Fuck. That delivery needs to get here. I don’t want to have to lock her in the bathroom.

Now a crate seems like an awesome idea. I won’t lock it or anything—there’s nothing here she can do much damage to in two hours I don’t think, plus, she’s probably exhausted.

I’m sure she could use a break from me nonstop talking to her and touching her.

The delivery arrives with fifteen minutes to spare.

I set up the crate, put her new bed inside it, and cover it with a big towel.

I fill a toy with peanut butter and toss it inside.

She follows me while I get changed into something not covered in stressed out dog hair.

I don’t have time to shave, but I do fill up a water bowl and leave out a small amount of food.

Before I leave, I put on ESPN, let her sniff the peanut butter toy again, and put it back in the crate. She watches me leave with woeful eyes, and I already feel like shit.

I should have waited for this weekend, I guess, but that’s not how I roll. I’m like that Ariana Grande song. I see it. I like it. I want it. I got it.

I’m so busy wallowing in my guilt and wondering how I’m gonna make it up to the dog that seeing Calyx about knocks me on my ass.

I don’t know what kind of alchemy happened in my brain last night while I was sleeping, but I must have become a fan or something because it feels like I’m face to face with someone more like Gideon York than a model I’d never heard of before a couple of days ago.

Wow is my mental reaction. He’s one of those people that makes backgrounds blur. He’s all—portrait mode.

He’s wearing very tight gray joggers that emphasize the length and shape of his slender legs—legs most girls would kill for.

His t-shirt is nothing special, but it’s tight, too, and white, making his skin fucking glow.

His shaggy blond waves softly frame his photo-ready face, and I realize now how long I was staring at it in the pictures and videos last night.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “We’ll do more than breathe tonight. ”

Breathing. Right. I need to do that.

I huff a laugh because I’m staring, and it’s embarrassing. “I got a dog today.”

“Oh?”

Okay, random.

“Yeah—I adopted her. I feel bad for leaving her, but I didn’t want to cancel.”

What am I talking about? I didn’t even think about canceling.

“We can reschedule.”

“No, I just mean, it’s on my mind. Sorry. Rambling. How’s your day?”

“Uh…fine.”

A good looking guy with two full sleeves of cohesive and well done tattoos comes up behind Calyx, and I shift my attention. He’s buff, but I’m bigger, and I make my immediate calculations about how easily I could take him if it came down to it.

The hairs on my neck rise, and a jolt of adrenaline streaks through me as he puts a hand on Calyx’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

“Saber,” I say, holding out my hand somewhat aggressively.

The dark-haired guy stares at me a moment then shakes my hand. “Ryan.” He says it pointedly, as though he wants to draw a stark contrast between the normalcy of his name and the silliness of mine.

I tip my chin up and don’t let it get to me. Or I try not to, but my grip tightens before I release his hand. “Calyx is training me,” I say for no reason.

“Yeah,” he says.

I glance at Calyx who’s standing with his arms crossed and a curious look on his face. “You ready?” he asks me.

“How do you guys know each other?” I ask, nodding my chin at Ryan .

“We met here.”

“You know, you look familiar,” I tell Ryan.

“Yeah?” he asks.

It clicks. I’ve seen him on TikTok. He’s one of the Finance Bros.

Shit. He does thirst trap videos where he leans against a wall shirtless holding his cat while he gives money-making tips and strategies.

He shows up on my FYP a lot actually, and I think originally it was because I follow a lot of people with good tattoos.

It’s the watch he’s wearing that makes it come together for me. A vintage Rolex.

“Billion dollar black cat, right?”

Calyx snorts, and when I look at him, he’s covering his mouth, but there’s a definite sparkle in his eyes.

“Are you actually?” I ask.

Ryan looks confused.

“A billionaire?”

“Jesus,” Calyx mutters, his body shifting away like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Still working on it.”

What? Was that rude, too? Maybe someone should put me in a crate until I learn how to behave.

“Just kidding, man,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says in not the nicest way, then, after a long look at Calyx, he turns to leave the gym.

When I slide my gaze back to Calyx, he’s watching Ryan go, arms still crossed, the amused grin still on his face. In terms of his Instagram, the only pictures he smiled in were the ones with those two women. It disappears pretty fast when he looks up at me.

“Ready now?”

“Yeah, sorry, I just?—”

“Recognized him. I got it,” he says, and I’m already following him back to the small studio .

“Sorry if I was rude,” I say. “It was just surprising when I realized who he was.”

“And you got a dog today.”

I frown. “Yeah?”

He opens the studio door for me, and I walk through it. The same eerie music is playing, and the diffuser is pushing out steamy clouds of lemongrass and lavender. The room feels warmer than it has the last two nights.

“Kinda hot in here.”

“A hot yoga class finished half an hour ago. It’ll cool off.”

“Oh. How hot does it get?”

“Ninety-eight? A hundred? I’m not sure. Very hot. If you ever want to try it, it’s pretty amazing. It’s like you leave every toxin in your body on a sweaty mat by the time it’s over.”

“That sounds awful,” I say.

“Punching someone in the face is awful. Hot yoga is just exercising with the heater on.”

Damn. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t say anything. He’s got the mats laid out, so I drop the bag I probably won’t need, and sit in the easy sitting pose I forgot the other name for.

Calyx gracefully drops into the same position facing me and rests his upturned hands on his knees. He looks—stunning. And then he opens his mouth again “We’ll start with a few breaths. Try not to think about black cats and dogs.”

My own mouth twists, and I have to bite my lip, a sudden and unexpected urge to cry thickening my throat and stinging my eyes, which I drop to the mat.

I breathe slowly, in and out, desperately needing to not do that .

I’m used to being put in my place. I’m the little brother, and I’ve been the new kid at the gym for a year.

But something about the way Calyx does it hits different.

Listening to him breathe, I match his rhythm without the sound at the end.

Every muscle in my body is rigidly tense.

It’s been a while since I’ve beaten myself up about anything, but tonight I’m confused, and I’m starting to really fucking hate myself.

It’s not anything a few breaths is going to fix.

This is what happens when I let my guard down. I get punched in the face. I can’t fucking believe I forgot that.

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