Page 8 of Jacked (Gymbos #1)

CHAPTER SIX

AJ

“I am so fucking over this heat,” Slater groans, grabbing the collar of his shirt behind his neck and tugging it up over his head.

His muscles are bulging and his skin is glistening with sweat after the hard workout I just put him through. It’s only been ten days of training him, but I feel like I can already see some extra bulk on him in the right places.

He gets a few lingering glances and straight-up wolf whistles as we pass the bar below our apartment.

If the attention from guys on the street makes his insides hot and squirmy like it does mine, he doesn’t show it.

That smile that never seems to leave his face just gets wider, and I swear he puffs up his chest and adds a little extra swagger to his step before we round the corner.

“You never feel weird getting attention from dudes like that?” I ask in a low voice, fishing my keys out of my pocket.

“Are you kidding? Do you have any idea how picky most gay guys are?” He uses his wadded-up tank to dab the sweat off his face and keeps his arm up to block the sun from his eyes while he waits for me to unlock the door.

Maybe I should point out that the brim on his hat was designed to do exactly that? He really rocks the backward cap look though, so I’m not going to mess with that.

He has a point about the heat. I never thought the heatwave would last this long, and goddamn am I ready for it to end. I can barely remember what it feels like to not be damp. I yank the door open and Slater shoves past me with a booming laugh, body checking me with all of his sweaty, bare skin.

“Last one up is in charge of dinner,” he shouts, taking the stairs two at a time, his gym bag bouncing against his shoulder and his ass flexing in his tight shorts with every stride.

I shake my head and chuckle. Normally, I can’t resist a challenge, but no way am I risking leaving him in charge of dinner.

He wasn’t kidding when he said he can’t cook.

French vanilla creamer in scrambled eggs isn’t even the worst of his food sins this week.

He tried to make ramen on the stove yesterday using soy sauce instead of water to cook the noodles.

It managed to be both completely uncooked and burned, and so salty I actually ended up Googling “how much salt can kill you?”

I jog up the steps after him, setting aside my ego and happily letting him beat me by a mile.

By the time I get there, he’s already inside, leaving the door open for me.

He drops his bag right in the entryway, kicks his shoes off, and drops his shirt on the floor next to them.

We get along great and I really like living with him, but I can see why he might have had trouble with his last girlfriend.

I nudge his shit off to the side with my foot and toe off my own shoes.

Slater flops down on the couch and makes himself comfortable, splaying his legs wide and slouching with a tired groan.

I don’t know if it’s because of the heat or if he’s just the type of dude who prefers to wear as little as possible, but I’ve definitely gotten used to the sight of him shirtless around the apartment, and sometimes even out in public.

I keep noticing the weirdest shit though, like how light the sparse hair on his chest is and the way his abs tighten when he laughs.

Maybe these temperatures are making me delirious, or maybe it’s this stupid “no jerking off” thing I’ve been sticking to.

Can cum backup scramble your brain? Because it kind of feels like it can.

I don’t even want to think about some of the strange shit that’s run through my head this week.

Like two days ago when Slater got sauce on his hand and licked it off.

For a hot second I actually wondered what it would feel like to have a dude’s tongue on my nipples. What the fuck, right?

I shake my head to clear that train of thought. Slater shamelessly shoves his hand down his shorts to scratch his balls, and I snort a laugh.

“Do you have to do that in the living room?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m scratching my balls, not jerking off.”

He pulls his hand out of his shorts and flips me off.

I force out a laugh, but a hot feeling squirms through me at the same time.

Yeah, I definitely need to end my No Nut Challenge tonight before my thoughts get even more fucking weird.

I should not be picturing him jerking off right there on the couch just because he made a dumb-ass joke.

I clear my throat and turn towards the kitchen.

“I was thinking shrimp lettuce wraps for dinner? I’ve got that big bag of frozen shrimp I picked up at the store a few days ago.”

Slater groans again. “I know you’re my personal trainer and everything, and all these healthy, high protein meals are definitely getting me shredded.” He pats his taut stomach and grins. “But can we get, like, one cheat night a week to order deep dish pizza and cannoli or something?”

“Dude.” I chuckle.

“Come on, let’s be bad tonight.” He waggles his eyebrows and makes his voice low and suggestive, like he’s talking about sex instead of four thousand calories worth of cheese in one sitting. “I’ll run to the corner store and grab us a six-pack. It’ll be awesome.”

“Fuck it, it’s a Friday night, why the fuck not?”

“Yessss.” He fist-pumps into the air then hops off the couch. “You order the pizza and I’ll go get the beer. Meet back here in twenty minutes.”

“Go team,” I joke.

He jogs past me and I give him a hearty smack on the ass like any good teammate would. A good teammate would notice the way his ass jiggles with the contact too, right?

SLATER

“Goddamn, check out the arm on that kid,” AJ mutters with awe, knocking back the remains of his second beer.

I slouch a little lower on the couch, my stomach pleasantly full and a little pudgy with a well-earned food baby. If I’m having a cheat night, I’m not about to fucking waste it with tiny portions.

“He’s on fire,” I agree, cracking open my third beer. I’ve got just enough of a buzz going to really relax after a long week. I can’t imagine a better way to spend a Friday night than watching a baseball game and chilling with AJ.

I would never tell Nolan this because he’s been my ride or die bestie since we were kids, but I think I might like AJ a little more.

There’s something about him that makes me feel relaxed but somehow energized at the same time.

Maybe it’s that we have so much in common?

Whatever it is, I’m just glad I lucked out with this whole roommate gamble.

I reach down to absently scratch my balls again. It’s all this damn sweat. The heat has me all itchy and irritated.

“Dude.” AJ snorts.

“What?” I glance over and he looks pointedly at my hand down my pants.

“Jesus, I didn’t know you were the ball-scratching police.” I laugh, making a show of jiggling my balls before I pull my hand out of my pants. Just to fuck with him, I reach over like I’m going to touch him with my ball-sweat hand. He bats it away and I cackle.

“What are you? Fourteen?”

“Thirty, bro. But if I haven’t grown out of thinking balls are funny by now, I doubt it’ll ever happen.”

He shakes his head and cracks open his third beer too.

With both of us manspreading, our knees bump occasionally, and the warmth of his skin is making me extremely aware that I’m coming up on three weeks since I last jerked off.

This is when it’s always hardest to keep holding out, when I’m at the point where my balls ache almost all the time and anyone even breathing in my direction can get my dick hard.

You’d think how hard AJ’s been pushing me at the gym would be an energy suck, but it’s like all the extra adrenaline and endorphins are pooling in my cock or something, because I’ve been popping random wood all damn week.

“So…” He clears his throat and shifts in his seat, his knee brushing against mine again. He takes a sip from his beer, his attention fixed on the baseball game on the TV, but he seems tense all the sudden.

I frown and cock my head, waiting to see if he’s going to keep talking. Did I do something weird and just not notice? I didn’t say anything about my overactive dick out loud just now, right? I’m pretty sure I didn’t.

“I was wondering…” he says after a few seconds, reaching up with his free hand to rub the back of his neck.

The movement shifts the wide sleeve of his tank top over, exposing his massive pec and the dark, hairy nipple that refuses to stop being fascinating no matter how many times I tell myself to stop looking.

“Yeah?” I press my knee against his on purpose this time, reassuring him wordlessly that whatever’s making him nervous is probably fine. Hell, my confession about edging porn didn’t ruin our budding friendship, and whatever’s on his mind can’t be any more embarrassing than that.

He gulps down a little more of his beer, his throat bobbing with his swallows. Is the soft bulge of his cock between his legs more noticeable than usual or is this another symptom of my overly horny brain?

“I was wondering about that edging thing you were talking about. The channel or whatever?” His tone is gruff, and the shock of him asking about the edging porn when it was just on my mind has my adrenaline surging, making my heart race and my cock swell unexpectedly.