Page 121 of Gym Bros
“Okay,” he says. “You’re lucky I feel pretty today.”
I have to take a deep breath so my thoughts don’t run away with themselves. I’d rather not walk into the weight room with a tent in my shorts.
“You better look good, too” he says with a note of warning.
“Yeah, all right. Have a nice day with your cat.”
“I will.”
I end the call and grin to myself. This is… I don’t know what this is, but I’m obsessed with it. As obsessed as I’ve ever been with anything, but more than I’ve ever been with a person.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. I’ve seen enough movies where obsession looks a little like crazy and ends up crashing and burning, but my relationship with Calyx doesn’t feel unhealthy. All-consuming maybe, and I should probably have more interests besides training and fucking him—something to balance me out. Then I remember I do have a dog I care a lot about, and I’m committed to improving at yoga now that I’m finally starting to be able to find more ease with it, so maybe all I need now is to incorporate some friends.
I look around the gym. Two of the women fighters are coming in, one gesturing and talking to the other. These are supposed to be my people, but in a way, they’re my competition, too. I probably should have gone out with them Saturday, no matter how last-minute the invite was, but when I heard they were all leaving, the only thing I could think of was being alone with Calyx.
Did I think it’d be as good as it had been? No. It far exceeded my expectations, so it’s very hard to regret, but bonding with my teammates feels like an uphill battle.
I open the door to the weight room, see four other fighters working out and step inside, newly determined to small talk my ass off.
I plannedwhat to wear tonight, but all that trust Calyx talked about on Friday apparently doesn’t extend to my wardrobe. I come home to a large box outside my door with a garment bag carefully folded inside. I unzip it to discover a charcoal gray suit, a shirt, and a tie. The brand of suit is one I’ve never heard of.Brioni. The measurements are precise. It’s nearly a perfect fit, though slightly snug around my legs and ass. Not restrictive though. I’m not afraid of splitting a seam or anything.
Calyx is all approval when I show up at his townhouse to pick him up, but I’m too busy looking at him to appreciate the way he’s looking at me.
He’s also in a suit, but rather than a dress shirt and tie, he has on a black illusion turtleneck beneath his black wool jacket. His pants are roomier, almost baggy, but oozing with style. His hair is slicked away from his face in a way that shouldn’t work but of course does. When he finishes appraising me from head to toe, he looks up to meet my eyes, and I nearly give up on going out altogether.
His eyes are lightly lined, his lashes full and dark with mascara. Glitter sparkles on his lids, and his lips are even redder than usual, like he stained them with raspberries, but I’m sure it’s some sort of genius cosmetic. They’re not glossy, but satiny smooth. He’s flawless. Perfection. He looks like a man, and he looks like a model, and he’s so ridiculously pretty inside all of that that I can’t believeI’mthe one he said yes to.
“Hello,” he says.
“Hey.”
“Nice suit.”
I give him a slow turn. “This old thing?”
He smirks and pushes back one side of the jacket near my hip. “Mm. I was hoping they’d hug you like that. The man can wear some pants.”
“No one’s dressed me up since I was a kid.”
“I shop when I’m bored. It’s not that I don’t think you can dress yourself.”
“Uh-huh.” I step in and put my hands on his waist. The fabric of his shirt is silky beneath my hands. “I can see through your top.”
“I can’t have your eyes roaming when you’re out with me. It’d be terrible for my brand.”
“How’m I supposed to keep everyone’s eyes off you, though?” I ask as I sweep my hands up to rub my thumbs over his nipples. They’re hard. At my touch, he tips his head back. I press a soft kiss to his mouth.
“Hi,” he says softly.
I need to focus, or we’ll never leave this place. I abandon his tempting nipples and take his hands. “Let’s go.”
He stumbles after me as I drag him over the threshold. He winds up attached to my side with my arm around him. “I’ve been watching videos of people enjoying raw oysters all day so I don’t gag when I see you eat one,” I tell him.
“I hope you’re joking.”
“Technically, it was three videos, but I think it was enough to desensitize me.”
“Have you ever had one?” he asks as we enter the garage.
