Page 52 of Gym Bros
“Fuck. Seriously?”
I grin. “I gotta go. Thanks for helping.”
“You’re welcome. Have fun and happy fucking birthday! If you strike out, text me, I’ll give you birthday head.”
I laugh. “How many kinds are there?”
“You’re gonna love being queer, Saber. Let me know how it goes tonight.”
We hang up, and I pick up my shoes, doing my best to make them look less like shit.
The club is actually nice.The way Calyx talked about it, I expected something seedy, but it’s the kind with a VIP list and bottle service. To my surprise, I’m on the list, and I’m shown to a circular booth off the main dance floor where Calyx, Rachel, and Priya are already drinking cocktails around the low table.
Rachel hops up to greet me, wishing me a happy birthday again. She looks totally different than earlier. With her hair done and make-up on, she’s hot. So is Priya. They’re both knockouts, but Calyx… He’s something else entirely.
I’ve been around models my entire life—not including my dad, and they do stand out, but the way Calyx stands out is the goddamn sun. There’s no containing him.
He stands and smiles at me while Rachel gives up her seat in the booth next to him and pushes me toward it. “Look at you,” he says.
Me? When he looks likethat?
His sheer white shirt isn’t much more than an overlay. Like a filter. It’s skin-hugging and completely see through—abs, nipples, collarbones, all visible. He’s also wearing black pants, but his are purposely oversized, fashionable I’m guessing, cinched with a gold-buckled belt around his tiny waist.
And of course, there’s the small matter of his face. His lips are glossy, and his lashes are thick and lush. His gorgeousblonde waves fall perfectly to frame him—like his stylist is a genius with bone structure. He’s so fucking perfect, it makes him almost impossible to look at.
I don’t have any idea what to say, so I don’t say anything, and I try really hard not to stare. Even my dick is standing down, like it’s intimidated.
I sit, and he and Rachel are quick to follow. Priya is talking to a waitress, gesturing at us as she does. Calyx sits close, his legs crossed toward me, our hips and shoulders touching. “Don’t try to keep up with the girls,” he warns me. “They have robot livers.”
It’s a good reminder because I’m not much of a drinker. My first hangover when I was seventeen was incredibly bad, so I’ve been overly cautious since. In terms of drinking tonight, I want to loosen up and be able to talk casually like I did at brunch, but I don’t want to lose all my impulse control. There are already several bottles of water on the table. I grab an unopened one and crack the lid.
“How’s your day been since we saw you?” Calyx asks.
I realize I haven’t said a single word yet, so I go ahead and do that. “Good. I took a nap.”
“Me, too. Those mimosas laid me the fuck out. Better now?”
“Yeah,” I say. “How often do you come here?”
“I’ve only been a few times. Not recently. These two are the partiers. I’m usually good for a drink or two, but my dancing days are few and far between. But you tell me—what do you think?”
I take a look around the huge multi-storied club with its cages suspended from all corners hovering just above the dance floor. The dancers are naked, or mostly. Covered in glitter that catches the lights. Male, female and other or neither. The dance floor is full but not packed like the lines to the bars. It’s definitely an under thirty crowd. A meat market.
Our table is getting a lot of glances from men and womenalike. No one looks particularly predatory, but I switch into a more vigilant mode. Part of me wants to put my arm behind Calyx—it doesn’t have to be on him, but on the booth behind him. It would serve no purpose whatsoever, but it’d make me feel better. Not that sitting next to him is bad. It’s fine. “Big place,” I say in answer to his question.
“Do you dance?”
“No.”
“What, never? Not even at home in your underwear while you’re waiting for the microwave?”
I blink and stare down at him.
He grins. “Just me, then?”
“Your pink underwear?” I ask.
He winks at me. “They’re not pink tonight.”
