Page 6 of Jacked (Gymbos #1)

CHAPTER FOUR

SLATER

“Goddamn.” I pant, tilting my head back to guzzle my water bottle dry.

AJ chuckles unapologetically like he didn’t just hand me my ass in that training session. I don’t know if it’s because I slacked so hard over the past week or if he’s just fucking gifted with this shit, but I swear every muscle in my body feels like Jell-O.

“You’ll be back in tomorrow, right?” He punches my shoulder and then we step farther apart to let a group of people move between us on the sidewalk.

Once they’re past, we gravitate back together and round the corner to our apartment entrance.

“I’ve got an idea for a kick-ass circuit that will work muscles you didn’t even know you had. ”

I groan and grin at the same time.

“Somehow I love and hate you at the exact same time right now.”

He throws his head back and laughs too loudly, squeezing the back of my neck and then slapping my ass playfully before darting ahead of me to sprint up the stairs.

“Best compliment you could give a trainer, bro,” he calls back to me.

I gather my dwindling energy and launch myself after him, taking the steps two at a time.

He only stays ahead of me for a minute, his chiseled ass bouncing right in my line of vision like a bullseye.

I pull my hand back and give him a hard smack right on his ass cheek.

He yelps in surprise and stumbles just long enough for me to get past him.

I cackle with victory and manage to skid to a halt in front of our apartment door half a second before him.

“Dick,” he mutters without any venom.

“Speaking of dicks…” I unlock the door and step inside.

We both kick off our shoes and I drop my gym bag right on top of my sneakers.

I couldn’t be bothered to change after my workout, so I’m still wearing my shorts and tank top, both damp with sweat and clinging to my skin.

If it bothers AJ that I flop down on the couch in my gym clothes, he doesn’t say anything.

He didn’t change either, so it can’t be that big of a bugaboo for him.

He claims the other side of the couch. He puts one foot up on the coffee table and slumps into a comfortable position with his thighs falling wide open, his shorts riding up a few inches and the wide sleeve of his tank top falling to one side to leave one dark nipple on display.

The brown hairs around his nipple draw my attention for just a second.

I’ve always had a strange fascination with how hairy some dudes are.

I always chalked it up to the fact that my body hair is lighter and naturally thinner, like I’ve got body hair envy or some shit.

“Speaking of dicks?” AJ raises his eyebrows, giving me a look of equal parts amusement and confusion.

I laugh, shaking my head and pulling my attention away from his hairy nipple and the curious musings about whether hair like that is soft or coarse.

“When I was getting changed earlier, there was this dude strutting around the locker room bare-assed. I swear to god, I’ve never seen a bigger dick in my life.

I still can’t decide if I should feel insecure about it or glad I’m not carrying a weapon like that.

” I chuckle and mirror AJ’s slouched position, my knee bumping against his.

His forehead furrows and his eyes get a little wider with a look that’s somewhere between surprised and panicked. His chest hitches with a couple of fast breaths and then he lets out a hoarse, strangled sounding laugh.

“Dude, you’re not supposed to stare at other guys’ dicks in the locker room. That’s like the golden rule. Eyes to the sky, man.”

“It wasn’t like I was pulling back shower curtains like a perv. He nearly put my eye out swinging that thing around,” I say. AJ’s cheeks pink and he bounces his knee. “You seriously never look?”

Anxiety and a hint of shame make the pit of my stomach clench.

Shit, is it weird that I notice dicks sometimes?

I notice tits too—like, a lot . Should I tell him that so he knows I’m not checking out guys in a gay way?

Rushing to defend myself feels weird too though.

Like I think there’s something wrong with checking out dudes in a gay way.

“I mean, sure, sometimes…” he finally admits, shifting in his seat and tugging on his shorts, pulling them back to their original length. It doesn’t do much good though, they ride right back up as soon as he lets go of them.

He meets my gaze and things feel awkward and tense for a minute.

It’s like I can feel all the sticky beads of sweat on my skin and the way my clothes fit a little too tight.

AJ clears his throat and a crooked smile forms on his lips.

I take my hat off and drag my fingers through my hair before putting it back in place.

“No homo?” I say with an awkward laugh.

The tension bleeds out of his posture, and he barks out a stilted chuckle too. “No homo,” he agrees. “You hungry?”

“Yeah. Anything but hot dogs.”

AJ snorts. “Or eggplant?”

“Dude.” I throw my head back and cackle, and just like that, whatever weirdness was lingering is gone.

AJ

Slater leans over the island counter, watching as I pull veggies, hummus, and a package of chicken breast out of the fridge.

“Grab the lentils and rice from the cupboard for me?” I nod towards the pantry.

“Thanks for sharing with me. I gotta get to the grocery store,” he says, grabbing what I asked for and setting it on the counter along with the rest of the ingredients for the protein bowl I’m going to throw together for us.

He grimaces, then chuckles. “Honestly, I need to learn to cook. I’m such a fucking stereotype, always letting my girlfriends cook for me or living on frozen chicken or takeout whenever I’m single. ”

“Dude.” I scoff and shake my head. “Yeah, you’re going to need to learn to cook.”

“You going to teach me?”

“Sure.” I push the cutting board and knife towards him. “Lesson one: chop the vegetables and don’t cut off any fingers.”

He picks up the knife and salutes me with it. “Yes, coach.”

While he gets to work on that, I pull out the rice cooker for the lentils and rice.

It’s nice to have someone else in the kitchen with me for a change.

Slater whistles a cheery tune to accompany the rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunk of the knife hitting the cutting board with each chop.

I glance over to make sure he’s managing it without any bloodshed, and he seems to be doing just fine.

There’s a lingering tightness in my gut from a few minutes ago.

Not because I admitted that, sure, sometimes I look, but from how embarrassed and panicked Slater looked for a second when I hesitated to answer.

I know that feeling. I’ve fucking been there.

That sickening, sinking feeling when you blurt out some dumb-ass shit and for a split second everyone just stares at you before they burst out laughing.

One second you’re bonding with the guys, the next you’re the butt of the joke.

I don’t want Slater to feel that way.

I fucking hated that shit all my life. Little by little, I figured out all the subtle ways to keep from being that guy, but it never feels like enough.

The anxious, guilty feeling that one wrong move could tear the mask off permanently is always there.

The fucked up part is that I don’t think I even know what’s under there. I’m not sure I want to know.

“I always… um—” I clear my throat gruffly.

“—kind of liked the sound of a dude moaning in porn and shit.” I mumble the confession with my back turned to him.

My heart pounds and my hands shake a little as I dump the lentils into the rice cooker.

Shit, why did I say that? He’s going to think I’m telling him I’m into dudes now or something.

“Fuck yeah,” he says almost instantly, no hint of hesitation or shame in his voice this time.

I let out a relieved breath.

“It’s just hot to know they’re actually enjoying it, right?” I glance over my shoulder to see him bobbing his head in agreement.

“For sure. I can’t get off to videos where there’s no emotion at all, when it’s obvious that they’re both just there for a paycheck and every second of it is totally forced. I actually—” He stops himself abruptly.

What was he going to say? He actually what?

Fuck, I’m curious.

I press the button to start the rice cooker and then turn around, facing him as I lean against the counter.

The back of his neck is flushed red like he’s embarrassed again.

He’s moved on from the vegetables to cutting up the chicken breast. He might not know how to cook, but his chopping skills seem just fine, so at least he’s not starting from complete zero. I can work with that.

He shifts his stance, scooping everything into the pan I set out.

With his back to me like this, I can’t help but notice the way his shorts cling to the curve of his ass.

Butch was right earlier, whatever areas Slater could use more work on, his ass definitely isn’t lacking.

And I mean that in the most hetero way possible. I’m a trainer, I notice this shit.

“Actually?” I say when it doesn’t seem like he’s going to keep talking. Maybe I should let it go, but seriously, what the fuck was he going to say?

He looks over his shoulder at me and wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know if I should say it. Like, I feel like we’re bro bonding and everything right now and I was about to blurt out this porn thing I’ve been into lately and… yeah… figured that might be a little weird.”

I raise an eyebrow and my gut heats a few degrees. I know I’m the one who brought the topic up, but talking about porn is reminding me that I haven’t gotten laid in two months. That quick jerk-off session didn’t do nearly enough to take the edge off either.

“If bros can’t talk about porn, what can we talk about?” I joke, hoping I sound casual and not weirdly energized like I am all of a sudden.

He snorts. “Alright, well, have you ever done No Nut November?”

That startles a laugh out of me. I don’t know why, but that isn’t where I was expecting him to go with this.

“No. I think I’d be the crankiest bastard alive if I was walking around with full balls for a whole month.” I reach between my legs to cup my nuts sympathetically at the thought of going thirty days without busting one out.

“Fair enough.” He chuckles. He finally turns around too, mirroring my posture by leaning against the center island facing me, bracing his hands behind him.

The soft bulge in the front of his shorts is more noticeable than it was before.

He licks his lips and then keeps talking. “Seriously, no judging, okay?”

I hold my hands up in a show of surrender. The longer he hedges, the more curious I am about what exactly he’s dancing around and what it has to do with the trend of edging yourself for a whole month once a year.

He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs.

“Before my ex and I called it off, the sex had dried up for about a year. It was to the point that I was sick and tired of my own damn hand, but I’m not a cheater and I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel, so I decided to try to go a whole month without…

you know… just to see if I could do it.” He shifts on his feet again and presses his hand over his now obviously hardening dick.

The talk of porn and sex and getting off has my body reacting the same way, my cock tingling and my nipples getting stiff and achy.

I grunt and nod so he knows I’m listening.

“Long story short, I got really into edging. Busting a quick nut once a day is all well and good, but saving it up for a week or two then really taking your time, pushing right to the edge and then holding back…” He bites his lip, and I actually see his cock jerk in his shorts.

My mouth is dry as sandpaper, and the flutter of my tank top against my skin is suddenly enough to give me goose bumps.

“So,” he goes on, “I found this porn channel where it’s like an edging game.

There’s a meter on the screen and you follow the prompts and try to hold off all the way until the end.

There’s a guy in the videos, but I look at it like a competition, not like I’m, you know, getting off to a guy jacking it.

” Slater gives a tight laugh, and I want to reassure him that I get it, but every ounce of my energy is focused on keeping my breathing even and not reading too much into the throbbing of my cock, so I just nod.

“Anyway.” He clears his throat. “That’s it.”

He gives me a shy smile and I swallow through my suddenly dry throat.

“That’s… cool.” We stare at each other for a second before Slater bursts out with a booming laugh. “What? I don’t know what I’m supposed to say when someone tells me what they jerk off to,” I say with a wheezy laugh of my own.

“You’re the one who asked.”

“I did.” I chuckle. I definitely did, and now it’s my own fault that I’m stuck with the image in my head of Slater with his rock-hard dick in his hand, squeezing his balls to hold off his orgasm.

Heat rushes through my body and I shake my head hard, trying to dispel the thoughts.

“Is it weird now?” He wrinkles his nose.

I huff and punch him in the shoulder. “Nah, man, it’s cool.”

He punches me back, and in spite of the strange, charged feelings still making me jittery, I really do mean it. Things are cool. Slater is cool.

Cool. Cool. Cool.