Page 51 of Gym Bros
I sigh. “It’s my birthday.”
He gasps. “Why didn’t you tell me? Happy birthday.”
“Thanks. This all just kind of came up.”
“Well, I like you in all black,” he says. “So what’s the shoe situation?”
I show him the choices, deliberately not including the one pair of dress shoes I have. They’ll kill my feet, and at some point I have to pick comfort over fashion.
“Oh, not the brown,” he says. “Are those Vans as beat up as they look on the phone? I’m assuming yes.”
“Yes,” I agree.
“But the Docs don’t feel like you.”
“I went through a phase in high school.”
“We all did, babe. Do you have time to wash the Vans?”
“Not like—in the washing machine.”
“Well, do what you can to clean them up a little, maybe switch out the laces, and I think those are fine.”
He’s right. Calyx won’t expect much. I just need to not look like I’m going to the gym.
I have no game plan for this, which, believe it or not, is not my normal approach to potentially stressful situations—ones where I want to win. I don’t go into a sparring match hoping for the best, relying on my instincts or whatever, and I rarely even take a walk without a pre-planned route.
But I am impulsive in the more general sense. Agreeing to come out tonight, for example—impulsive. The problem with my impulses, though, is that they have about a fifty-fifty success rate. When I used to start fights in school, the odds were just as good that I’d get my ass handed to me as the other way around. I’ve definitely improved my odds in that department, but take picking up a girl for example. Fifty-fifty. It works as often as it doesn’t. It’s hard to tell before I start talking to someone whether they’ll be into me or not, but I get a feel for it within about a minute.
Calyx is not into me, but I wasn’t into Evan either, and I still enjoyed the blow job. I’m hoping for a situation sort of like that.
Women aren’t as hard to read as the guys I’ve known in my life have made them out to be. Some like the tattooed, athleticMMA thing, some want the guy with a huge bank account and a starched dress shirt. I honestly never know until they start playing with their hair or asking snarky questions.
What I do know is Calyx is the equivalent of the snarky question girl, and I’m pretty sure he goes for bank accounts and dress shirts, but honestly, I can’t even tell whether he’s bi or gay or straight or what. Although there were hints at brunch with the story Rachel and Priya told. I don’t think awomancame on his ass from kissing him.
Itiseasier to imagine him with a man. Rachel and Priya would probably know for sure, and from what I gathered today, they’d definitely tell me. I just have to think of a way to ask without seeming like I’m interested.
Or do I want them to know I’m interested?
No. No, definitely not. I don’t want Calyx getting tough on me again. God forbid we need to have a “talk” where he puts me in my place. I’d crumble.
I flip the phone camera back to my face and tell Evan I need to get going. He moves just enough to where I get a glimpse of his bare back and bare ass and a ring light. “Wait—what are you doing?”
“I was live when you called,” he says.
“Doing what?”
“Not much. That’s why I answered, but I have one of my regulars coming on in fifteen minutes.”
I want to know more and wish I had time to ask, but if I have to clean up my shoes, I need to get off the phone. “Nice ass.”
He grins. “Sorry, not sorry.”
“How much can you squat?” I ask.
“Two-fifty. You?”
“Three-twenty.”
