Page 148 of Gym Bros
I exhale and work to let the tension beneath his palm go. My forehead grazes my knee.
“Fuck yeah,” I whisper.
“God, you’re hot when you’re flexible.”
“Five more pounds,” I tell him.
“I’ll be ready after my sandwich.”
He was right about the amount of positions I’d be able to come up with. Well, that’s not true, I’ve thought of plenty, but the ones that require me to do all the work, which is the goal, are limited either by physics or my own creativity. The best position is the one where I hold him up, so I guess I’m getting a little boring. Not gonna lie, I’ll be glad for Monday, too, where I can make love to him like it’s not a sport. Preferably without the heater on full blast.
Until then, I have to multi-task. I thought he’d have turned me away by now, but nope.
Calyx takes a shower while he waits on his food. I stay on the mat and keep moving. As promised, when his sandwich arrives, I put my shoes on, get Beauty on her leash and head out.
Because my brain is also moving nonstop, I give my mom a call.
“Sam! Hi! What are you up to?”
“Just getting into shape. My fight’s this weekend.”
“I know. It’s on my calendar.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re coming, though, does it?”
“Oh, no.” She laughs. “No, no, no. I just wrote it down so I’ll know when to start dosing myself with Xanax.”
I laugh. “I promise I’m gonna be fine. My trainers said I’m good to go.”
“They think you match up well with the other fighter?”
“They think I’m better.”
She blows out a breath.
I’m chronically underestimated, but I don’t really see why. I’m tall. I’m strong. I’ve been training non-stop. I’m determined as fuck. But clearly I have something to prove, and here it is.
The secret, I think, is the killer instinct. I’m a nice guy. That’s been verified. I even have a history of being goofy. But if there’s one thing Javier’s worked with me on the most, it’s tapping into my rage.
Now, I’ll grant, I don’t have a lot to rage about, so I’ve gotta dig pretty deep, but if I think about the world at large—from online assholes to people who don’t believe in science or march at hate rallies, I can get pretty pissed off. I just sort of imagine I’m fighting someone who embodies all the shitty things I would change if I could.
But when all else fails, and my trainers tell me to go harder, I imagine my opponent’s hands on Calyx’s body, and that never fails to push me over the top. “I haven’t lost yet,” I tell my mom.
“Don’t jinx it, Samuel.”
“It’s not a jinx, Mom. It’s confidence. It’s mindset.”
“Right, right, I’m sure. Are you doing anything other than training? Getting out at all? Seeing the sights? Meeting people?”
“I actually have met someone,” I tell her.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, at the gym.”
“Am I going to have to drag this out of you? Or is she not all that special?”
I haven’t thought about women in so long the question hits me out of the blue. “Um, very special, but not…it’s a man.”
