Page 12 of Jacked (Gymbos #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

SLATER

I don’t want to bug AJ while he’s with a client, so I grab a towel off of the rack and make a beeline for the section of the gym with all the weight machines where I won’t need a spotter.

My mad pec envy over AJ’s massive muscle tits has me plunking my ass down at the first open chest press I come across.

I adjust the weight and start my first set of reps, grunting softly through each press.

Normally I just kind of pick a spot on the wall to stare at while I work out, but I guess I haven’t managed to completely shake the thoughts from earlier, because I catch my eyes wandering.

The leg press is directly in my line of sight, and my attention snags on the beefed-up dude currently using it.

His shorts probably fit tight at the best of times, but in this position, reclined on the leg press with his thighs flexing and bulging with each rep, he might as well be wearing a thong.

His thighs are so damn thick I wouldn’t be surprised if he could crush a pumpkin between them.

My heart rate jumps and a distinctly excited feeling buzzes through my veins like a shot of adrenaline.

Do I wish I had pumpkin-crushing thighs or do I wish I was the pumpkin?

I keep staring at his thighs while I finish my first set of reps, and when I pause, I glance up towards his face and notice him watching me right back.

Oops, busted . I give him an apologetic smile and pray that he’s not the kind of guy to get all bent out of shape about that kind of thing.

The look he gives me back definitely doesn’t look offended though. It’s kind of… aggressively horny.

Shit .

I swallow hard and dip my head, reaching for my towel and pretending that wiping my face requires a hell of a lot more focus than it actually does until I can’t feel the weight of his gaze on me anymore.

Okay, I need to be more careful, clearly .

My fuckup doesn’t quell my curiosity though.

I start my next set of reps and this time I let my attention wander to someone a little farther away, where I’m less likely to get caught.

A dude in the squat cage gets into position with the barbell over his shoulders, then hefts it out of its cradle and squats down.

In the correct squat position it’s impossible not to notice someone’s ass, but damn his is thicc .

Gluteus to the absolute maximus. My mouth waters, and I imagine what it would feel like to sink my teeth into those taut, muscled glutes.

My heart jolts. Okay, that reaction might be a little more damning.

But it’s an ass. Ass is pretty gender neutral, isn’t it?

Drooling over a dick would be a smoking gun, but a juicy ass?

Maybe it’s just a sign that I need to think about trading my hand for an actual living, breathing person in my bed. Woman in my bed.

… right?

I breathe through my reps, counting them out in my head as I watch him. He finishes his set and seats the bar back in place, and then he catches my gaze through the mirror and winks. Dammit, I’m really bad at this.

I whip my head away again as quickly as I can and come face to face with a massive set of pecs. They’re much less hairy than AJ’s, but just as round and perky. Wanting to stick my face between a nice pair of tits isn’t gay just because they happen to be on a dude, is it?

“Trolling at the gym? I can respect that.” I tilt my head back to see Butch’s sunny grin.

“What? I’m not…” I shake my head and let the weights snap back into place with a clang .

“Riiiiight.” He gives me an exaggerated blink with a head tilt that I think is meant to be a wink that seriously jumped the track.

“I never try to pull ass at work either.” He says that part loudly, looking over his shoulder towards the guy at the front desk like he’s trying to make sure he’s listening.

The dude at the desk snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Boss?” I guess.

“Andre? Yeah, he owns the place.” Butch takes the chest press next to me.

“So, help me wingman you. What’s your type?

Who are we scoping for? I might be able to give you some inside info, tell you who’s single, who’s packing the goods, and who’s been hitting the roids a little too hard.

” He dips his voice low, all conspiratorial and shit.

“Oh, I seriously wasn’t.” I shake my head again and start on my third set of reps.

“I was just…” I use the excuse of needing to breathe through the reps to trail off, but really I have no fucking clue how to explain what I was doing.

Checking, I guess? Still not sure where I landed except maybe… confused?

“Sure.” He says again with a smirk.

Should I keep arguing? It doesn’t seem like I’m going to convince him, and maybe… maybe it doesn’t matter if he thinks I’m checking out guys at the gym? Maybe it’s not something I need to defend either way. So I just grunt back and keep counting out my reps.

I expect Butch to go on his way once we’re both finished with the chest press, but instead, he finishes up too, wipes his machine down, then follows me over to the leg press. I set the weight and he frowns at it.

“Come on, man, don’t wimp out. You can do more than that.” He adjusts it and then stands by the same way AJ does when he trains me, crossing his arms and looking down at me with a stern but encouraging look on his face.

“Careful, AJ might get jealous,” I joke.

Butch looks over to the left, then chuckles and nods.

“Yup.”

“Wait, seriously?” I was just talking shit, but is AJ actually jealous about someone else training me even though I didn’t ask? I crane my neck and sure enough, there’s a thunderous look on his face that it takes him a few seconds to smooth out when he realizes we’re looking at him.

I snort a laugh. “Didn’t realize trainers were so territorial about their clients.”

Butch laughs again too. “I think it’s more the ‘roommate’ thing than the trainer thing.”

My gut heats and, again, I don’t correct Butch. What’s the point in arguing when they’ve already made up their minds?

With the weight set high, I don’t have to fake concentrating this time. It takes all my energy and focus to get through the reps, grunting and groaning, the weight clanging loudly in between each one.

“You’ve got this. One more. Dig deep,” he says.

“I hate you even more than I hate AJ,” I wheeze between gritted teeth, my legs shaking through the final press.

“The life of a trainer. If you don’t hate us, we’re not doing it right.” He claps my shoulder warmly when I stand up. “Oh, hey, I haven’t had the chance to ask Ajax yet, but we’re all planning to go camping in two weeks—kind of a team bonding thing. You guys should come.”

“Ajax?”

“Stronger than grease,” AJ explains, coming up behind me.

I chuckle and playfully squeeze AJ’s bicep. “I can see it.”

My stomach flutters a little again at the feeling of his warm, sweat-slicked skin under my palm.

Instead of the urge to pull away though, the weirdest impulse to dig my fingers in harder pulses through me.

His eyes land on my hand on his arm and I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

Is it weird after last night? Is he freaked out?

I pull my hand back and cross my arms casually.

“What do you say? Up for some male bonding out in nature?” Butch asks again now that AJ is here.

He looks at me and I shrug. It sounds fun, but these are his coworkers, so it’s up to him.

It takes a few seconds, but AJ nods. “Yeah, sounds like fun. Text me the details.”

“Oh man, I’m going to need to get camping gear. I left all my shit with my brother. I didn’t think there would be a lot of need for a sleeping bag or tent in the city.” I chuckle.

“I’ve got shit you can borrow,” AJ assures me.

“Do I hear an only one sleeping bag trope in the making?” Fender comes out of nowhere to ask.

“Only one…?” I frown.

AJ just shakes his head. “It’s better not to ask.”

“Got it.” I nod.

Butch claps me on the shoulder again and then wanders off with Fender, leaving AJ and me standing together next to the leg press. We’re not exactly alone considering we’re in a crowded gym full of dudes, but it’s as alone as we’ve been since I hurried off to the shower last night.

Should I say something about what happened? Make a joke? Ask if he’s freaking out? Or is it better to just never talk about it again? But… what if he wants to do it again? How will I know if I don’t bring it up?

AJ clears his throat and then glances over his shoulder towards the door.

“I have another client coming in just a few minutes, I just wanted to remind you not to skimp on cardio.”

It’s not an acknowledgment of what happened, but I think it’s AJ’s way of trying to let me know that everything is normal and cool between us. My shoulders sag with relief, and I grin.

“You got it, Coach,” I tease. “I’ll catch you at home later?”

His lips twitch with a more restrained smile as he nods. “Yeah. Don’t do me any favors and try to cook dinner though.”

I snort. “Alright. You can show me how to cook those lettuce and shrimp things when you get home.”

“Deal.” He hesitates for just a second, then gives me an encouraging slap on the ass and jerks his chin towards the treadmills. “Now, get to work.”

AJ

Shit felt normal enough between us at Sweat, but that doesn’t stop nerves from creeping back up on my way home.

If Slater wants to have some kind of heart-to-heart about what happened last night, I’m going to have to nope the fuck out of that.

But what if he gives me that puppy dog look of his?

Dammit, this is why I’m no good at relationships.

Why do people always want to talk about shit?

Not that I’m in a relationship with Slater, obviously. Just… relationships in the broadest sense of the word.

I drag my feet on my way up the stairs and take my sweet-ass time sticking the key into the lock and pushing the door open.

I’m surprised to find the entryway clear of all of his junk for a change.

I toe my shoes off and nudge them up against the wall.

I find Slater in the living room, splayed out on the couch with his hand down his pants and ESPN playing loudly from the TV.

“Dude.” I raise my eyebrows, anxious heat spiking through me even though it’s obvious he’s not jerking off or anything, just chilling with his hand down his shorts.

I get it, it’s not like I haven’t done it too, it’s just a little more of a reminder of what he looked like last night with his hand around his hard cock than I can take right now.

He looks up from the TV, a big smile spreading instantly over his face when he notices me. Shit, I don’t think anyone’s ever been so blatantly happy about me just existing before.

“Ajax.” He casually pulls his hand out of his shorts, tucking his arm behind his head instead. The position makes his bicep bulge and draws attention to the thick tuft of blond hair under his arm.

I’ve never noticed a guy’s armpit hair before, but for some reason, my attention is drawn there. Is it soft or coarse? Is he ticklish? The line of thought makes the knots in my gut tighten and I look away.

“Butch is an idiot,” I say with a laugh in response to the nickname.

“I like him.”

“Yeah, I do too. He’s still an idiot though.”

He laughs and swings his legs off the couch, sitting up and then getting to his feet.

He stretches his arms over his head, and his t-shirt rides up to show off the lean lines of his abs.

I swallow and turn towards the kitchen. His footsteps are right behind me in a matter of seconds, and I’m still braced for him to try to talk about what happened.

“Alright, shrimp.” He pulls open the refrigerator. “What else do we need?”

A little bit of relief whooshes through me. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he’s happy to just let last night be what it was and not have some big, awkward discussion about it. Bless this dopey golden retriever of a man.

“Well, washing your hands would be a start. I don’t exactly want your pubes in our dinner.” I flip on the faucet then scoot past him to start grabbing the rest of the ingredients from the refrigerator.

He chuckles unapologetically and happily washes his hands.

“Hey, what’s your plan for tomorrow? I was thinking we could hit the batting cages,” he says, drying his hands and then standing by the island to wait for my instructions.

“Hell yeah, that sounds like a blast.” The last of my nerves melt away.

I don’t know what I was so worried about.

Slater is chill as fuck—that’s why I like him.

That’s probably why I trusted him like I did last night.

He’s not going to try to make this into something it’s not.

He’s as happy as I am to just let it be.

And if it happens again, that doesn’t have to be a big deal either.

The relief that rushes through me is fucking euphoric. I throw an arm around Slater and pull him into a headlock. He struggles playfully, throwing his body weight into me.

Dudes jerk off together sometimes. We’re roommates and I’d like to think we’re friends.

Shit, if I’m being honest with myself, Slater is probably my best friend, even though we haven’t known each other very long.

Goofing off and jacking it together is no big thing.

We could jerk off together every night and it wouldn’t have to mean anything.

I can’t believe I’ve never had a friend like Slater before. It’s kind of the fucking best.