Page 59 of Jacked
“Well, um, we were eating dinner naked on the kitchen floor…” I drag my hand over the back of my neck and Fender makes a strangled sound, putting his hand dramatically over his chest.
“Ob-sessed,” he repeats. “Go on.”
I shrug. “I asked if he wanted to go to a ball game next weekend. He said yes, and that was it.”
“Sounds pretty spot on to me.” Butch joins in the conversation, wiping the sweat off of his face with a towel then flinging it over his shoulder. “Naked, check. Food, check. Ball game invite, double-check. Hell, I’d be shopping for wedding rings at this point.”
Silas snorts a laugh. “Knowing Slater, I don’t think you were as off base as you think you were. But if you want to make sure he knows this is a date, you’re going to have to come right out and say it.”
I nod. “Right, okay. Do I just tell him, ‘hey, by the way, this is a date’?”
“That should do it.” Silas sits up and pats me roughly on the shoulder.
“Okay.” I bob my head again and run that through my head a few times so I’ll remember it. “What else do I need to know about going on a date with a dude? Do I bring him flowers or is that just for women? And how do you know who pays?”
“Everyone likes flowers,” Fender says.
“And chocolate,” Butch says.
“Don’t overthink it,” Silas advises. “Dates are about getting to know someone and spending time with them. Gender doesn’t really make that much of a difference. Woo him, buy him a hot dog, if you catch a fly ball, give it to him. You invited him, so I’d say you pay this time and let him get it the next. That’s a great way to segue into asking for another date too.” He winks. “Just make him feel special.”
I smile and let out a breath. “That doesn’t sound so complicated.”
“It’s not,” Butch says. “The hardest part of gay dating is figuring out if you’re on the same page. Like, is the other guy just looking for a fuck buddy or are there feelings there? Sometimes they send mixed signals or you just let yourself get carried away falling for someone who’s really only down for some no-strings fun, and then you end up looking like a fucking idiot.”
“Oddly specific, dude,” Fender says.
“Relatable though,” Silas agrees, and Butch laughs with an embarrassed, relieved look on his face.
“Ooh, boyfriend alert. Slater’s coming in.” Fender’s looking past me towards the door.
“He’s not my—” I start to say, and then I look over my shoulder and see Slater stepping through the door, and the denial dies on my lips. He doesn’t look any different than he always does when he shows up straight from work. He’s missing his hat and he’s dressed in a plain dress shirt, the top buttonsundone and the sleeves rolled up. His suit jacket is slung over his shoulder, along with his duffel bag containing the clothes that actually look likehim.
The “corporate” look is all wrong on him, but my heart skips a beat anyway as soon as our eyes meet. He raises his hand to wave and then puts it back down with an awkward huff of a laugh.
“Hey. I managed to sneak out of work an hour early. I hope it’s okay I’m early for my scheduled training session.” He glances around the nearly empty gym and smirks.
“Yeah, of course. You’re my last client for the day, so this means I’ll get to take off early too once we’re done.”
“Cool.” He stops in front of the desk, his eyes locked on mine in spite of the three idiots grinning at him. His pink tongue darts out to wet his lips and he hitches his gym bag higher on his shoulder. “Let me go get changed and I’ll be right back.”
I watch him until he disappears into the locker room, and even then, I can’t stop staring at the door as it swings closed behind him. It would be weird to follow him in there while he changes just because I don’t want to wait an extra two minutes to ask him about his day, right?
“Duuuude, you’ve got it so bad,” Fender singsongs.
I finally tear my eyes away from the locker room door and swallow hard. His teasing tone puts my hackles up, but it’s Butch’s earlier rant that jumps to the forefront of my mind.
“What if he doesn’t…” I rub my chin and try to get my thoughts in order. “I mean, how do I know if…”
“That man looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.” Butch puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a friendly squeeze. “That’s no guarantee things will work out, but it’s a damn good start.”
SLATER
A couple of other guys come into the locker room while I’m changing. I’ve been working out here long enough now that I recognize the other regulars even if I don’t know their names. I up-nod the first guy who passes before remembering that he’s the dude with the pumpkin-crushing thighs I got caught ogling a few weeks ago. He slows to a stop and claims the locker next to mine.
“Hey, I’m Eric.” He offers me his hand while I’m in the middle of stuffing my button-up shirt into my locker. I eye it for a second. I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want to give this guy the wrong idea either.
“Slater.” I settle for a friendly smile rather than a return handshake.
