Page 42 of Gym Bros
Igenuinely can’t tell if Samuel’s feeling any better about our yoga practice, but by Friday, I sure the fuck am. He’s super hard for me to read—not like I’m some genius at reading people, but he’s very guarded. Ever since I showed up at his apartment, his poker face has been firmly set into his features. It makes him look slightly scary, and I wish I could say I didn’t deserve it, but I get that I do.
But if anything can make him smile, I’m betting on goat yoga. To be honest, the prospect of having any animal besides Siva climb on me for any reason during any activity isn’t my idea of a good time, but I’m willing to make some sacrifices here to atone for my shitty behavior.
I kind of hate that my mood or myissuesaffected my job, and I probably need to do some soul-searching about that, but that can be my Sunday project. Tonight, I’m meeting Rachel and Priya for drinks after the gym. I have to talk them into goat yoga instead of my regular class tomorrow, which I already have a sub for. I’m relatively sure the chance to meet “Saber” in the flesh will be a big selling point.
And sue me, I think he’ll dig my friends. They’re a lot morefun than I am, and maybe a good lay is just what the aspiring fighter needs to pull him out of his own funk. If he gets really lucky, he might even be able to have the pair of them. They’ve been known to do that from time to time.
My best girlfriends are dressed in their tightest, scantiest pick-up gear in the downtown bar full of finance bros. I’m in a slim fitting black suit, my nod to blending in, but with the amount of looks and double-takes I’m getting, I might as well be on a runway.
“There’s our beautiful boy!” Rachel coos over the noise as I approach the two of them at the bar.
She throws her arms around me, and I soak up her hug. I love the perfume she wears. It’s Gautier Classique, the original, and it’s my favorite. I wear it occasionally, too.
Rachel’s buttery blond hair is curly tonight, while Priya has her sleek, dark locks pulled into a high ponytail. They both look gorgeous, and I have no doubt they’ll find whatever they’re looking for after I part ways with them.
Priya is next up for a hug, and I give her hair a pull. “Cute,” I tell her.
She flicks it for effect. “Thank you. You’re coming dancing with us, yes?”
“No—but I do have a proposal for tomorrow.”
“Why not?” she asks.
“Because this—” I wave at the crowd in the bar. “Is a mood I’m not in.”
“Someone needs to getlaid.”
That’s Rachel and her martini talking. She drinks these raspberry lemon cocktails that taste like candy but are pure vodka and triple sec.
Ignoring her comment I say, “I’m changing our yoga venue tomorrow. We’ll be in Alamo Square.”
She wrinkles her nose. “What? Why?”
“Because it’s gonna be sunny, and there will be goats.”
“Oh, fuck no,” Priya says.
“Fuckyes,” I counter. “Guess who’s coming.”
Rachel grabs Priya’s arm and pulls her to her side. “The MMA fighter?”
I nod, smug, because I knew that’d do it.
“It’s goats, Rachel.” Priya says. “Actualgoats.It’s not a euphemism for anything.”
“What? Like greatest of all time yoga? Bitch, I know it’s real goats. What are you—scared they’ll eat your Lulus?”
Priya presses her lips into a thin line and glares at me. “Why can’t he just come to a regular class?”
“Because,” I say. “You’ll see. He needs to lighten up.”
“Hedoes?” Rachel directs this at me.
“Hey. I’m fine,” I lie.
“I’ll believe that when you come dancing with us again.”
I don’t need strangers pawing at me and grinding against me, thanks. I don’t know what it is about me that screams touch me all over without permission, but if it could be surgically removed, I’d consider it. If I want to be touched—I’ll ask, thanks. “I’ll make you a deal. Goat yoga this weekend, and I’ll come dancing next weekend.”
