Page 82 of Gym Bros
Mitchell—the dude half responsible for my injury—gets most of my attention. As usual, he goes all out in a way that’s not meant for training purposes. He fights clean, but hard. He’s twenty-six and probably the best fighter at this gym. At the rate he’s going with all the fights he’s been getting and winning, he’ll be going pro any minute.
As much as I resent him for the last six weeks, I could learn a lot from him. His background in jiu-jitsu makes him a menace on the ground. I’m a stronger striker, but honestly that doesn’t mean shit once I’m off my feet.
Improving my ground game depends on the use of my whole body, right leg included. And to get my right leg back into shape, my left leg needs to be able keep up.
Balance.
My morning runs with Beauty have been going well, my pace is improving, meaning my strides are getting longer. I’m not back to where I was, but every day I see small improvements.
I get a mild ribbing when I cut out early to meet up with Calyx for yoga, but Rodrigo shuts up the group of guys giving me shit about it. He reminds them all they’re one fight away from a serious injury, and they’ll be lucky if their recovery goes as well as mine has.
Like I said, I’m not making many friends in this town. Maybe now that I’m twenty-one and can actually join them when they go out together it’ll make a difference, but they’d have to ask first.
I wish I were more outgoing. That I didn’t care what other people thought about me. I used to think I was that kind of person, but it wasn’t until I came here hell bent on impressing everyone that I discovered something fun called imposter syndrome.
It’s something to do with seeing these guys with their distinct styles and confidence—their perfect bodies and their swagger. On the one hand, it drives me to do better, but on the other, it makes me wonder whether I belong or not.
Most of them are straight—their girlfriends randomly show up to watch them work out or spar. They’re all good looking women—mostly blondes, fake or otherwise. But two of the fighters are a couple. Both welterweights—Hector and Jay. I assume they met here.
Just because they’re gay, though, doesn’t make them any more friendly. We’re technically a team, but we’re also each other’s competition.
I fight in the middleweight class, but right now I weigh in as a light heavyweight. My height makes me heavier in general. My body likes to weigh about two hundred-ten pounds, but for a fight, I need to land at one-eighty-five, otherwise I could end up fighting some giant capable of killing me with a single punch.
I prefer to stay on the leaner side because my speed is half my talent. Now that I’ve been injured, I figure I’m a ways out from getting a fight of my own, so I won’t have to cut weight any time soon.
It’s good to be back, though, despite the difficulty I’ve had bonding with the people here. I’ve wanted to prove myself for as long as I can remember, and I’m finally in a position to make that happen.
I stop by my apartment to shower before I head to Calyx’s gym, forcing my brain to switch gears.
Not like I haven’t been thinking about him all day, but I need to put up a different kind of guard when I’m around him. At the training gym, I like to look tough and impervious. I have to protect my pride.
With Calyx, it’s not pride I’m trying to keep from losing—it’s something more tender in me that bruises way easier. I want to trust him, but knowing I’m not his type at all has me constantly poised for rejection. Still, I made him laugh yesterday. I made him come twice. I showed him a good time, which, according to his friends, he doesn’t have that often, so maybe he’ll give me another chance to wreck that hot as fuck body of his.
I just need to play my cards right. Still, it’s “the morning after,” and I have no idea what the fuck to expect from him, which has me on edge.
I’m fully prepared for him to pretend like nothing happened. Or at least I think I’m prepared for it. As prepared as I can be anyway to hear something I don’t want to hear.
He’s running with his friend Ryan when I arrive, and he’s gotthat cute headband on. They’re all business as they run in tandem on adjacent treadmills on the other side of the gym.
While Calyx is short, compared to me anyway, he’s got long legs, and his strides are swift and smooth. I check my watch. I’m five minutes early. It gives me a minute to check him out—along with this other guy. I get a twist in my chest when Calyx’s face breaks into a huge smile, but when Ryan reaches out and slaps his ass—my fist clenches.
This is not something I need to see right now. Taking a deep breath, I turn back to the woman behind the counter. Assuming the small studio is set up like it usually is when I arrive, I tell the receptionist to let Calyx know I went in already.
I’m breathing heavy by the time I’ve got my shoes off, and I take a seat on the mat to do some of those relaxation exercises. It takes seventeen breaths for me to get the image of another man’s hand on Calyx’s ass out of my head. When I open my eyes, I look around and check the clock. He should be here any second.
I’m not sure I noticed before how intimate this setting feels. The studio is clearly meant for private classes or smaller groups. It could probably hold about a dozen people on yoga mats. The lights are dim, and the music Calyx plays varies, but it’s usually chill.
I’ve got my eyes closed again, utilizing the aromatherapy of the diffuser to try and calm my ass down, but I’m not sure it helps because I don’t hear or see him come in, and when he touches my shoulder lightly, I nearly come out of my skin.
“Jesus Christ, you scared me.”
He doesn’t smile or laugh, only drops onto the other mat and sighs. “Sorry.”
He’s sweaty and glowing. His white shirt is wet enough to win him a contest, which is a first.
I take my hands off my abdomen and run them down my crossed legs while I do a quick head to toe scan of him. Yep. Stillhot as fuck. Hotter actually now that I know what it would look like if I were to try peeling him out of those sweaty clothes.
“How’d it go?” he asks.
