Page 72 of Gym Bros
“No,” I say. “But if you want me to come home with you, I’ll go.”
“And you’ll keep your expectations low?”
I roll my eyes, and he makes a horrified face. I say, “We can talk from different rooms if you want.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” he says, looking more flustered than I’ve ever seen him, already walking past me to the pier. “Didyoudrive here?”
“Yes,” I say, catching up.
“I Ubered. You want to give me a ride?”
“Sure.”
I arrived early enough to get a decent parking space, and after a quick walk down the block, I open the door to my Porsche for him. Calyx doesn’t look unimpressed.
He tells me his address, and I plug it into my map app so he doesn’t have to give me directions.
He looks good in the seat beside me, not that I had any doubt that he would, but it’s a nice sight watching him try to get his hair out of its windblown disarray using the passenger side mirror. For someone who doesn’t want to be judged on his looks alone, he certainly spends a lot of time on them, which is—in fact—cute.
Halfway up the first hill I encounter, he notices I’m working the stick shift. “They still make cars like this?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“Why would you want one of these in San Francisco?”
“I lived in LA when I got it. It’s fun. You know how to work one?”
“No. I’d be terrified on these hills.”
“Yeah, they’re a challenge, but I like it,” I tell him. “Anyway, it comes naturally after a while.”
“I guess.”
Calyx’s hands are folded between his slightly spread thighs now that he’s done perfecting his hair. “Are you hungry?” he asks.
“I could eat.”
“What do you like? I can order something and have it on the way.”
“I could always go for a sandwich.”
He reads me the menu from a sandwich place while I let the app navigate me to his neighborhood. I decide on a cheesesteak, no onions. He doesn’t tell me what he gets.
By the time he looks up from his phone, I’m a hundred feet from his apartment. He directs me to the underground parking garage and hands me a card to badge myself in. “Just park wherever,” he tells me. “It’s not assigned.”
My nerves kick up as I’m angling into a spot near the elevator. I’m not trying to get myself kicked in the nuts today, but I have a feeling that might be what’s about to happen—metaphorically speaking.
We don’t talk as he leads me to the elevator, nor as it takes us to the second floor. He doesn’t say a word, in fact, until we’re entering his apartment through a kitchen door where there’s a cat yowling at my feet.
A very, very, pretty cat.
“That’s Siva,” he says, taking off his coat and crossing the room to hang it on a hook near the front door. The cat follows him. He swoops her into his arms and buries his face in her neck fur.
I look at my watch, feeling a little irresponsible about leaving Beauty alone now that I’ve basically been shot down.
Maybe I shouldn’t be thinking that way. I’m inside Calyx’s apartment after all—in private. But I get the impression I’m here so he can set me straight in a less public place. So to speak.
“Drink?” he asks. “There’s alcohol.”
