Page 7 of Jacked (Gymbos #1)

CHAPTER FIVE

AJ

I yawn and roll onto my stomach, burying my face in my pillow to block out the morning sun.

It’s obvious the heat wave is still going strong.

Even with the air conditioner running at full blast in my window, I’m hot and sticky, and at some point during the night I must’ve kicked my blankets onto the floor.

My rock-hard dick presses into the mattress and I stifle a groan into my pillow.

The wispy leftovers of a filthy dream tug at the back of my mind, scattering before I can grab any of them.

I roll my hips and heat jolts up my spine.

It won’t take much for me to get off—a few more jerks of my hips, a quick pinch to my nipples…

I moan quietly again and then lift up just enough to slide my hand underneath me, slipping it into my shorts.

My cock throbs eagerly against my palm, but I ignore it and grasp my balls instead. They’re just as hot and sticky as the rest of my body, hanging loose to stay cool, but one good squeeze has them pulling tighter instantly. I bite my pillow and grunt softly, humping the bed again.

If there’s a better way to start the day than with an orgasm, I don’t know what it is.

“ 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… ”

Slater’s words from last night echo in my thoughts without prompting.

The memory of how he looked leaning against the counter fills my head next.

Hard dick, skin flushed and sweaty like he’d just run five miles, his pupils blown, and his nipples pressing against the thin fabric of his tank top.

My brain has to be exaggerating just how horny he looked talking about edging, right?

It can’t really be that much better than jerking off every day, can it?

Without realizing it, I’ve stopped grinding against my bed. For one hot second I’m just lying here, holding my balls, thinking about Slater and edging. My cock jerks insistently and I release my grip on my sac.

What if he’s actually onto something? It couldn’t hurt to ignore my dick for a few days just to find out.

Besides, it’s like he said: After so much one-on-one time with my own hand lately, any excuse to make things a little more exciting is welcome.

At least until the thought of actually getting back into the dating scene starts to hold some appeal.

I roll onto my back again and my cock gives a needy throb, but I stick with the new plan and ignore it.

Since I can hear Slater moving around the apartment, I lie in bed and listen to the traffic while I wait for my dick to get the message and settle down.

When ignoring it isn’t enough, I switch tactics and think about fucked up injuries I had to learn how to avoid to get my certification as a trainer.

Groin pulls, torn ligaments, slipped discs…

I cringe and shudder. It does the trick though.

With a reasonable amount of chub leftover, I drag my ass out of bed.

It’s too damn hot to bother with a shirt, so I shuffle out of my bedroom in nothing but my shorts.

I feel a bit like a bear lumbering out of hibernation as I scratch my hairy chest and yawn.

Slater is in front of the stove and a weird, sweet, burned smell fills the apartment.

I cock my head and drag in a deeper breath, trying to figure out what the hell he’s cooking that would smell like that.

His hat is perched backward on his head like usual and, like me, he’s not wearing anything but a pair of athletic shorts hanging low on his hips. He’s built more like Fender than like me—plenty of lean muscle rather than bulk. My eyes are drawn to the dimples on his lower back for just a second.

The coffee maker beeps, and I jerk my attention away from Slater with a quiet grunt and a shake of my head.

“Hey, you’re up.” Slater whips around with a hell of a lot of energy and a huge, dopey smile on his face.

“I wasn’t sure how late you usually sleep or what your work schedule looks like, so I didn’t know if I’d see you this morning or not, but I made breakfast just in case.

It’s no big deal, just a ‘thank you’ for showing me how to cook last night and sharing your food with me until I can get to the grocery store myself, which I’m planning to do tonight. ”

I blink, trying to process so many words thrown in my direction before coffee. I glance at the pan full of scrambled eggs he’s holding and cock my head. The sweet smell makes even less sense now than it did a few seconds ago.

“Uh, thanks,” I grunt, shuffling over to the coffee maker and grabbing a mug to fill.

“Sorry, I’m a morning person,” he says with an apologetic laugh.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I chuckle gruffly and take a sip of black coffee, relishing the burn on my tongue.

Over-the-top morning energy aside, it’s weirdly nice that he bothered to cook for me.

Even if he was already making breakfast for himself, I’ve never had anybody go out of their way to think about me like that before, let alone a guy I only met this week.

When I turn back around, he’s still standing in front of the island, holding the pan of eggs and looking eager and surprisingly shy, like he’s not quite sure if making me breakfast was welcome or not. I nod at the empty plates he set out.

“Load me up.”

His shoulders sag with relief and he scrapes the eggs onto the plates.

They look a little rubbery and overdone, but otherwise they don’t seem too bad for a first attempt, at least visually.

Slater pulls a couple of forks out of the drawer and hands one to me.

His eyes are on me as I pull the plate across the counter and stab a piece of egg with my fork.

I shovel it into my mouth and as soon as it hits my tongue, I sputter and gag.

I want to choke them down just to be polite, I really do. But it’s impossible.

I spit them back onto my plate in a soggy lump and wipe the back of my hand over my mouth.

“Dude.” I can’t stop myself from laughing. He warned me he didn’t know how to cook, but I don’t even know what the fuck that was. I reach for my coffee and take a couple of deep gulps, ignoring the burn and praying for the bitter flavor to chase the taste away.

“Dammit. Are they really that bad?” He’s got sad puppy eyes.

I would love to lie to him and pretend I just hate eggs, but I don’t think it would do him any favors. I laugh again and shake my head.

“I ate a worm on a dare once,” I say solemnly. “These eggs are worse.”

“Oh, come on. That can’t be true.” He scoops some onto his fork and shoves it into his mouth. It only takes half a second before his eyes water and he spits them right back onto his plate too. “Shit, you’re right. Do you think it’s because I used French vanilla creamer instead of milk?”

I blink. Then I blink again. By the third time, I’m still not sure I’m actually processing what he’s saying because what. The. fuck ?

At least it explains the sweet smell.

“Why?” It’s the only valid question really, and I have to understand his thought process. What happened inside his brain that made him think adding French vanilla creamer to eggs was the right thing to do? I’ve never been more baffled in my life.

He shrugs. “There wasn’t any milk and the consistency is pretty much the same, so I figured it would work.”

“Dude, no.” I pick up both plates and carry them to the trash to dump them. “Sit your ass down, I’m going to make us a couple of protein shakes. And please note that just because peanut butter and frosting are the same consistency, doesn’t mean they’re interchangeable either.”

“Frosting would make for one hell of a tasty protein shake though,” he says, switching places with me to sit down at the island while I start pulling everything out to make a couple of protein shakes.

“You concern me,” I mutter. Slater just cackles.

SLATER

AJ slides the shake across the counter to me and I smile in thanks.

Since he doesn’t seem like much of a morning person, I take pity on him and pull out my phone to kill a little time before I need to get dressed and catch the L to the office.

I fuck around on Instagram for a few minutes while I sip the shake, which definitely tastes a hell of a lot better than the eggs I made.

Then that joke the guys at Sweat made yesterday pops back into my head.

I close out of Insta and open up my browser, typing in “they were roommates.” My screen populates with a bunch of memes and GIFs, but the context still is unclear. Since AJ didn’t know, maybe it’s a gay thing? I pull up my messages and click on the thread I have with Nolan.

SLATER: What’s the deal with the “they were roommates” meme? Is it a gay thing?

It’s two hours earlier for him, but he and Cas keep weird schedules, so I’m not surprised to see him start typing back almost immediately.

NOLAN: Lol, yeah it’s a “gay thing.” It’s a joke about how back in the day queer people would pretend to be roommates since they couldn’t openly be together.

Shit, that’s kind of a dark joke if you think too hard about it.

I pull the search back up and look at it for another second.

There’s a GIF with a dude pulling off his sunglasses just like Fender mimed yesterday, so this must be what he was referencing.

I take another drink from my shake, my arm bumping against AJ’s accidentally.

He could have gone to sit in the living room, but he’s sitting right next to me at the counter instead, doing the same thing I am—enjoying his protein shake and scrolling on his phone.

It’s a nice, peaceful kind of silence, actually.

The pieces of what Nolan just said and the joke Fender made slot very slowly into place in my head, and as I lift my glass for another sip, they finally make sense.

“Dude, did they think we were gay?”

AJ’s brow furrows and he looks up from his phone. “Who?”

“Fender and Butch.” I turn my phone towards him to show him the meme. “It’s a gay thing.”

He squirms in his chair, letting out a tight laugh that’s extra wheezy.

“That’s…” He shakes his head.

“Ridiculous,” I finish for him.

“Yeah.” He runs his hand over his chest like he’s suddenly self-conscious that he’s not wearing a shirt, then tugs on the hem of his shorts again like he did yesterday.

“Yeah.” I let out an awkward laugh of my own.

His eyes meet mine and a hot feeling squirms in my chest. Embarrassment? Discomfort? Something else? I’m not sure I can put my finger on it.

“Not that it’s a big deal,” he hurries to say.

“Right, it’s not a big deal.” I bob my head and then chug down the rest of my shake, hoping it will douse this jittery feeling in my stomach. “I should…” I stand up and point over my shoulder towards my room.

“Right. You coming by for training this afternoon again?”

I hesitate. If they already think we’re, like, boyfriends or whatever, maybe it’s better if I find a different gym?

Just so things won’t be weird. I immediately hate that idea though.

And besides, like he said, it’s not a big deal.

We’re not gay, so who cares? We’re just two guys working out together.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I say, and AJ looks relieved.

He pulls back to a neutral expression quickly and gives me a quick up-nod. “Cool.”

“Cool.”

I head down the hall to my bedroom to get dressed for work, and the more I think about it, the more laughable the whole thing is. Me, gay?

If I were, I think I would have realized it a hell of a lot sooner than thirty years old. What kind of idiot could miss a thing like that?

Plus, chicks are soft and pretty and they smell great. And boobs. I mean, come on .

Yup, I’m definitely straight.