Page 5 of Gym Bros
“Um, okay, nice timing with the whole ‘everybody look at me!’”
“I thought it was a better bra. Sue me.”
To me, Rachel says, “She did a cannonball and came up with her tits out.”
“For like two seconds.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Rachel says. “She pretended not to notice forslightlylonger.”
Rachel and Priya have been friends since another one of Priya’s wardrobe malfunctions. They met in a ladies room and have been close ever since. Rachel is five-five, blond and pretty in a deceptively delicate way. Her personality is anything but delicate. She has pale, rosy skin, cat-like green eyes, and a soft, heart-shaped face. Priya, on the other hand is taller—five-eight with the glossiest black hair I’ve ever seen. Her desi roots are evident in her burnished brown skin, dark eyes, and full lips. Her beauty is obvious and striking. Her personality is non-stop flirtatious.
I laugh. “Whose party was this?”
“Some tech bro.” Rachel says. “I don’t know. Fabulous pool though. They had a whole city view.”
“It wasn’t Isaac, was it?” I ask because the layout sounds familiar.
“No, he was young.”
Ouch. Isaac isn’tthatold. He’s not even forty, which is technically young for me.
“How’s your other old man?”
Rachel isn’t pulling her punches today. This is what I get for trying to open up with people. “I need to set up my music,” I tell her.
“You should have come with us last night. The men were?—”
“You can tell me all about them at brunch.” I cut them off and head into the studio to set up my music, center my breathing, and enjoy one of the only hours of my week that might not suck.
2
SAMUEL
Look at me walking from the bedroom to the kitchen without limping. I immediately consult Google to see whether this means I’m recovered or not. The results are inconclusive.
By the time I’ve reached the end of a third Reddit thread on the topic, I’ve had to move some of my weight off my right leg—not because it hurts so much as it’s weak and tired of holding me up. The defeated feeling that’s been plaguing me for weeks threatens to take over again, but it’s replaced quickly with the other thing that’s been fueling me lately.
I am so goddamn horny, I feel like I could explode. This injury is ruining my life.
Fuck my trainer and fuck my hamstring. Also, fuck Mitchell for acting like sparring is a fight to the goddamn death. It’d be one thing if I tore my muscle in a cage match with money and glory on the line, but on a Tuesday? At the training gym? Come on. Like there’s not enough about me that’s anti-climactic.
I tore a muscle, and I don’t even have a good story to go with it.
However, it does seem like it’s getting better, which meansmy story isn’t over yet. I’m young, and believe me—I’ve still got plenty of fight left. And testosterone apparently, becauseJesus. I’ve been awake an hour, and this is my third boner.
I rub at it while I’m searching the fridge, looking for something I can consume with one hand because I don’t think I can ignore this hard-on like I ignored the last one. I jerked off before I even got out of bed. I didn’t give in to the one I popped in the shower, which was probably a mistake, but it happened like ten minutes after the first. Now, half an hour later, I’m ready to go again.
I grab a pre-made protein shake and a paper towel before moving to the couch. I elevate my injured leg, crack open the shake, and drink half of it while I’m liberating my erection from my sweats. My dad’s gonna be here soon, and I’ll need to take the lotion off the coffee table and back to my bedroom, but for now, I’m glad it’s here. I lift the bottle, squirt some directly onto my dick and start stroking.
“Unh. Fuck,” I groan, dropping my head back and closing my eyes. My brain scrolls through its standard spank bank, settling on a fantasy rather than a memory. It’s nothing that wild. Just a position I haven’t tried before. Reverse cowgirl. Ass cheeks bouncing as I slam my hips up and up, watching my dick disappear and reappear as I take over the ride with banging thrusts.
I’m coming in minutes, barely catching my load with the paper towel. I tuck my dick away quickly, afraid that if I look at it too much or too much air hits it, it’ll surge back to life. This has been an issue since the pain in my leg started to recede. I’ve never been this hard-up in my life. I blame the lack of an outlet. I’ve done nothing for weeks but convalesce and think about things I don’t or can’t have.
I finish my shake and check the time. My dad should be here any second. While I’m scrolling my phone, trying to stay on the safer side of Reddit, I get a text from my buddy Evan.
I haven’t made many friends since moving to San Francisco, but I know Evan from high school. We weren’t very close then, but he was on the wrestling team with me, and we hung out some at tournaments. He was a senior, though, and I was a freshman. I didn’t know he was in San Francisco until a few months ago.
He’s got this huge Great Dane I couldn’t resist walking up to and petting when I saw it at the park one day last spring. It was a cool coincidence, and we’ve been consistently hanging out since.
