Page 35 of Jacked (Gymbos #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

AJ

“Hey,” I say in a low voice, sidling up next to Silas.

It’s taken me three days to work up the balls to ask for some advice, and seeing Silas alone at the front desk was the final push I needed.

As supportive as Butch and Fender have been, I think I’d rather get Silas’s calmer, more levelheaded input if I can.

“What’s up?” He looks up from the client paperwork he’s filing.

“Can I get your advice?” I lean my shoulder against the wall behind the desk and shove my hands into the pockets of my shorts.

Sweat isn’t busy this afternoon, but the comforting clang of weight machines in use and the steady whir of a treadmill nearby keep it from being too quiet.

“Advice?” Silas repeats, pushing the papers aside and swiveling fully in the chair to face me. It’s almost comical how big he is compared to the chair, like one wrong move might make the whole thing crumble underneath him. “You thinking about diving into strongman?”

That question draws me up short for a second. I actually hadn’t thought about that, but he’s shown me a couple of videos of the competitions, and it does seem pretty damn cool.

“Maybe, but that’s not what I wanted to ask about.”

Silas stares at me blankly for a second, and then a smile cracks over his normally stoic face.

“Ah. You’re looking for advice about gay shit.”

I snort a laugh. “Basically, yeah.”

“Alright, well, big disclaimer, if you’re looking for dating advice I’m probably not your best bet. My sex life is the Sahara Desert at the moment.”

“Seriously?” I look him up and down, lingering for just a second on his thick thighs and the tattoos wrapped artfully around his muscled arms. He’s objectively hot.

That I’m able to recognize that gives me a pleasant jolt of affirmation about my sexuality.

Yeah, Slater does it for me big-time, and I like him on a lot of different levels, but my attraction to men doesn’t live and die with him.

Silas chuckles and scratches his beard, twisting the chair back and forth just a half inch either way with the rocking of his legs.

“Yeah, but I don’t think you came all the way over to the desk just to hear the sad details of my latest dry spell. So, are you wanting the finer points of anal sex or something else?”

I sputter a laugh. “I’ve had anal sex. You know that’s not exclusive to gay dudes, right?”

“I know that,” he says patiently. “I wasn’t sure if you did.”

“I’m good with that.” I still haven’t worked out if I’m only into giving or if I’d be open to being on the receiving end too, but that’s not something I need Silas to weigh in on. “It’s about dating. Like, actual dating .”

“You’ve got a date with Slater?” he guesses.

My stomach squirms anxiously. There it is, the thing that’s been bugging me for the past couple of days. “I asked him on a date… but I think I did it wrong.”

Silas frowns and strokes his beard again. “You think you did it wrong? How?”

“I don’t know, it just didn't seem like he got it, you know?” I shift my feet and pull my hands out of my pockets to cross my arms.

“I am obsessed with this.” Fender pops his head around the corner without warning, making me nearly jump out of my skin.

“Holy shit, were you lurking back there eavesdropping?” I ask with a laugh.

He ignores the question and slips past me so he can plant his ass on the desk with a grin. “Tell us exactly what happened so we can weigh in.”

“Well, um, we were eating dinner naked on the kitchen floor…” I drag my hand over the back of my neck and Fender makes a strangled sound, putting his hand dramatically over his chest.

“Ob-sessed,” he repeats. “Go on.”

I shrug. “I asked if he wanted to go to a ball game next weekend. He said yes, and that was it.”

“Sounds pretty spot on to me.” Butch joins in the conversation, wiping the sweat off of his face with a towel then flinging it over his shoulder. “Naked, check. Food, check. Ball game invite, double-check. Hell, I’d be shopping for wedding rings at this point.”

Silas snorts a laugh. “Knowing Slater, I don’t think you were as off base as you think you were. But if you want to make sure he knows this is a date, you’re going to have to come right out and say it.”

I nod. “Right, okay. Do I just tell him, ‘hey, by the way, this is a date’?”

“That should do it.” Silas sits up and pats me roughly on the shoulder.

“Okay.” I bob my head again and run that through my head a few times so I’ll remember it. “What else do I need to know about going on a date with a dude? Do I bring him flowers or is that just for women? And how do you know who pays?”

“Everyone likes flowers,” Fender says.

“And chocolate,” Butch says.

“Don’t overthink it,” Silas advises. “Dates are about getting to know someone and spending time with them. Gender doesn’t really make that much of a difference.

Woo him, buy him a hot dog, if you catch a fly ball, give it to him.

You invited him, so I’d say you pay this time and let him get it the next.

That’s a great way to segue into asking for another date too.

” He winks. “Just make him feel special.”

I smile and let out a breath. “That doesn’t sound so complicated.”

“It’s not,” Butch says. “The hardest part of gay dating is figuring out if you’re on the same page.

Like, is the other guy just looking for a fuck buddy or are there feelings there?

Sometimes they send mixed signals or you just let yourself get carried away falling for someone who’s really only down for some no-strings fun, and then you end up looking like a fucking idiot. ”

“Oddly specific, dude,” Fender says.

“Relatable though,” Silas agrees, and Butch laughs with an embarrassed, relieved look on his face.

“Ooh, boyfriend alert. Slater’s coming in.” Fender’s looking past me towards the door.

“He’s not my—” I start to say, and then I look over my shoulder and see Slater stepping through the door, and the denial dies on my lips.

He doesn’t look any different than he always does when he shows up straight from work.

He’s missing his hat and he’s dressed in a plain dress shirt, the top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up.

His suit jacket is slung over his shoulder, along with his duffel bag containing the clothes that actually look like him .

The “corporate” look is all wrong on him, but my heart skips a beat anyway as soon as our eyes meet. He raises his hand to wave and then puts it back down with an awkward huff of a laugh.

“Hey. I managed to sneak out of work an hour early. I hope it’s okay I’m early for my scheduled training session.” He glances around the nearly empty gym and smirks.

“Yeah, of course. You’re my last client for the day, so this means I’ll get to take off early too once we’re done.”

“Cool.” He stops in front of the desk, his eyes locked on mine in spite of the three idiots grinning at him. His pink tongue darts out to wet his lips and he hitches his gym bag higher on his shoulder. “Let me go get changed and I’ll be right back.”

I watch him until he disappears into the locker room, and even then, I can’t stop staring at the door as it swings closed behind him. It would be weird to follow him in there while he changes just because I don’t want to wait an extra two minutes to ask him about his day, right?

“Duuuude, you’ve got it so bad,” Fender singsongs.

I finally tear my eyes away from the locker room door and swallow hard. His teasing tone puts my hackles up, but it’s Butch’s earlier rant that jumps to the forefront of my mind.

“What if he doesn’t…” I rub my chin and try to get my thoughts in order. “I mean, how do I know if…”

“That man looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.” Butch puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a friendly squeeze. “That’s no guarantee things will work out, but it’s a damn good start.”

SLATER

A couple of other guys come into the locker room while I’m changing.

I’ve been working out here long enough now that I recognize the other regulars even if I don’t know their names.

I up-nod the first guy who passes before remembering that he’s the dude with the pumpkin-crushing thighs I got caught ogling a few weeks ago.

He slows to a stop and claims the locker next to mine.

“Hey, I’m Eric.” He offers me his hand while I’m in the middle of stuffing my button-up shirt into my locker. I eye it for a second. I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want to give this guy the wrong idea either.

“Slater.” I settle for a friendly smile rather than a return handshake.

“Slater,” he repeats my name with an unmistakably flirtatious purr, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it into his locker too.

My gaze drops briefly to his bare chest. He’s got muscles for days, but his chest is waxed bare.

If the hair on his legs is anything to go by, he’s probably nearly as furry as AJ when he lets it grow naturally.

What a travesty. What a waste. I had no idea I had such a strong opinion about body hair, but give me all the fur, dammit.

I turn away from him and step out of my pants, and Eric lets out an appreciative whistle.

This cannot be proper gay locker room etiquette, can it?

I laugh and shoot him an awkward smile, then unzip my bag and pull out my shorts.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him still watching me, his task of changing on hold apparently as he leans shirtless against the lockers.

“You’re here a lot,” he says conversationally.

“Yeah. I’ve seen you around before too.” As soon as I say it, I know it was the wrong move. His smile widens and I fight the urge to cringe. Okay, I need to let him down gently before I say anything else that he interprets as flirting.

I reach into my bag again while I try to work out the best way to tell the guy I’m not interested.

My hand lands on the tank top I packed and my heart flutters, a giddy grin spreading over my lips.

I had the wild impulse this morning to snag one of AJ’s when I was packing my gym bag this morning.

I figured if he thinks it’s weird, I can just play it off as an innocent accident.

But right now, it’s giving me the idea for the perfect escape from this whole awkward encounter.

I pull the tank over my head. I’m swimming in it compared to AJ.

I don’t have the massive pecs to fill it out or the insanely broad shoulders, but the wide sleeves and plunging neckline are still slutty as hell, even on me.

In the background, I hear the sound of the locker room door opening and closing again.

I’m not sure if it’s someone coming in or going out though.

“What do you say to grabbing a drink after we work up a sweat today?” Eric leans in a little closer with a flirty smirk. “We can properly hydrate before we work up another one.”

“Thanks, but one of the trainers here is actually my boyfriend.” The lie is meant to get me out of this situation without hurting Eric’s feelings, but the word boyfriend on my lips feels like a shot of adrenaline straight to my veins.

I don’t want to rush things and I’m positive AJ isn’t anywhere near ready for anything like that but, fuck, I want it to be true.

Maybe it can be one day? I don’t mind waiting for him.

A flicker of disappointment crosses Eric’s face, but to his credit, he takes the rejection in his stride.

“He’s a lucky guy,” he says, then finally turns to finish getting dressed.

I slip on my sneakers and when I look up, AJ is lingering at the end of the aisle, glaring daggers at Eric. How long has he been there? Did he hear me refer to him as my boyfriend? Oops. I take my time tying my shoes until Eric leaves.

“Sorry,” I say to AJ as soon as we’re alone. I rake my fingers through my hair to push it out of my face, my footsteps echoing off the tile floor in the otherwise quiet locker room. “He was hitting on me and I kind of panicked about how to let him down gently.”

AJ doesn’t say anything. His eyes flicker to the tank top I’m wearing. His tank top. Do I need to apologize for that too? I bite my lip and stop just an inch in front of him, not sure if I can touch him the way I want to while he’s at work.

He lets out a rumbly laugh and closes the last inch of space between us, pressing his chest to mine, thighs to thighs, noses bumping.

“I’m having a bit of a caveman moment,” he confesses with another chuckle.

“I came in to see what was taking you so long and I heard him asking you out for drinks. I was ready to beat my chest and growl at the guy to back the fuck off. But then you called me your boyfriend and you’re standing here wearing my clothes.

I’m having a hard time not throwing you down on the bench and doing some very gay things to you. ”

I can’t decide whether I want to laugh or moan, either way the sound gets lodged in my throat as AJ drags his fingertips lightly over my bicep, leaving goose bumps in his wake.

“That ball game I mentioned? It’s a date.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his eyes burning into mine. “I mean, I was trying to ask you on a date. Is that okay?”

My heart leaps and my stomach flutters wildly. I nod and don’t try to fight the smile stretching my mouth so wide it hurts.

“Yeah, that’s okay.”

“Good,” he murmurs, tilting his chin and catching my lips in a soft, slow kiss.

It’s nothing like any of the other hungry, desperate, horny kisses we’ve shared so far. In spite of his flirting, I don’t think AJ is a “fucking in public” kind of guy. No tongue, no groping hands, just our lips finding a sweet rhythm that feels endless in the best way.

“Dude, we’re going on a date,” I say with a grin. “That’s so gay.”

He snorts a laugh. “It’s pretty fucking bisexual.”