Page 112 of Gym Bros
He stops punching his bag. “Oh yeah?”
I switch my stance like I’ve watched him do a few times and start jabbing with my other arm. “Yep. I’m no one-trick pony.”
“Are you saying I am?”
We’ve had sex at least once a day since we started having sex, but we only did it face to face the first time when I was so desperate to have him I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I don’t think this is on purpose so much as a lack of forethought or happenstance. Looking someone in the eyes while they’re fucking me has never been my go-to, honestly, and I always thought this was for vanity purposes because I’m a little afraid of what I look like when I’m being fucked, but also it’s just efficient to stick my ass out and let a guy get off.
Since Samuel and I play and tease each other rather than actually get intimate, he’s got a tendency to flip me over, give me a light spanking, and prove he’s all big and tough and can make me come hands-free. Also, I’m pretty sure he gets off on watching himself plow my ass. “I wasn’t even talking about you,” I say. “You’re so self-absorbed.”
“All right,” he says, tugging at his gloves. “Gloves are coming off. Meet me on the mat.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I say laughing and holding him off whenhe charges me. “Why do you like this?” I gesture at the punching bags.
“Hitting shit?” he asks.
“All of it. Arm bars, octagons. Why isthisyour dream job?”
“I like fighting,” he says with a quick wink before he tosses his gloves aside.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. The adrenaline rush? The way you have to learn how to read your opponent. Anticipate. The look on a dude’s face when he realizes I’ve got him, and there’s not a fucking thing he can do about it?”
Is that what I look like?
“Okay, but how did you know you liked that?” I ask. “Were you bullied or something?”
He huffs. “No. You’ve seen how much I like super hero movies. I was obsessed with Batman growing up. I wanted to get the bad guys. Make them pay.” His mouth quirks.
“Wait—you were the bully?”
He gives his scruff a rub. “I mean—I wouldn’t say that. I was more like the avenger. Keeping the real bullies in line.”
“You beat up kids who beat up other kids?” I ask.
He shrugs. “They were the only ones who deserved it.”
“Sam. That’s…” I don’t know what that is.
“Trouble,” he finishes for me. “I was trouble. I was kind of a moody kid.”
“And you’re not now?” I ask.
“I have an outlet now.” He scans me head to toe and back again. “Two actually.”
I blush. I hate to bring up Marcus right now, but there was one thing he said to me a few weeks ago I keep wondering about. “Was it pretty hard for you? When you got injured and you weren’t able to train?”
He frowns at me, like he can hear the question behind the question. He nods once. “What’d my dad say?”
I jolt at the blunt call out. Am I that transparent? “I don’t remember his exact words. He implied you were having a hard time, I guess. He sounded worried.”
“Look,” he says. “I love my mom and dad, but they’ve never really gotten me. I get upset or shed a tear, and they think I’m gonna jump off a bridge or something.”
“But why would they think that?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I said a lot of outrageous shit when I didn’t get my way. I’m telling you—I was a tough kid.”
“So you’re not like—emotionally unstable,” I say, wanting him to agree.
