Chapter One
Aldis
Is it possible to fall in love with someone just by watching them bench press? Because I’m pretty sure I just did. I’ve been creeping on him for weeks, if I’m being honest. Somehow our gym schedules just happened to align, thank the gay gods. Dionysus, maybe? He seemed pretty gay. At the very least, he knows how to party. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, Mr. Thick-Thighs-Short-Shorts has his legs spread on either side of the bench, his wide-sleeved tank top offering a delectable nip slip, his skin glistening with sweat, his muscles fucking rippling as he grunts out each rep. Be still my beating cock.
Normally getting my cardio in is my least favorite part of my circuit, but I can’t complain about today's view. For all I know, I’ve knocked out my two miles without even noticing because I’m so focused on my future baby daddy. I can’t get him pregnant, but we can sure as hell try.
When he finishes his set, he puts the bar in place and sits up, reaching for the towel he has laying in a pile on the floor next to the bench, along with a water bottle and his cell phone. Today’s the day I’m going to go for it. I just need to come up with the perfect opening line. Ideally, I’d want to have caught his eye before now to see if I can get a vibe from him as to whether he’ll be down or not, but the dude is focused when he works out. Actually, ear-warmer thighs aside, it’s the focus that first caught my attention.
Most guys who come here seem to use this place as a meat market as much as a gym, sometimes more than a gym. Not my guy. Dude pumps iron like it’s his religion, and he has the body to show for it. I’m no slouch myself. Between regular workouts and weekends rock climbing, I’m ripped six ways to Sunday. Maybe he’ll be interested in counting each other’s abs…with our tongues, of course.
He wraps up his workout, wiping down the equipment and sauntering toward the locker room, the flex of his ass as he walks making me pant. Or maybe the panting is thanks to the extra mile I put in while I drooled over him.
I skip my regular cool down, not wanting to miss my shot. I don’t hurry through wiping my own shit down, though, not wanting to make it too obvious that I’m following him into the locker room. It takes me a minute to locate him, sitting on a bench in front of his locker, thumbing through his phone. He absently drags his hand through his dark hair, leaving it messy, giving me all kinds of naughty thoughts about other ways we could achieve the same effect.
I grin and approach him from the side, catching sight of the color scheme of the app he’s perusing: grays and blues. It’s unmistakably my favorite hookup app. Score, he’s gay or, at the very least, bi. There’d been a good chance considering most guys at this particular gym are, but you never know. I’m not trying to peep over his shoulder, but a familiar picture fills the screen: my own playful smile, tousled hair, and big baby blues. He hesitates for a few seconds, looking at my picture before swiping left.
“Ouch, hard pass on that one, huh?”
He startles, dropping his phone and cursing before turning to look at me. There’s a cloud of uncertainty in his eyes for several seconds before recognition dawns, and he realizes I’m the same guy he just passed on. It’s okay. My ego is far too sturdy for something as minor as that to discourage me. I look sexy in my profile pic, but in person, I have the full use of my charms to convince him I’m worth his afternoon.
“Have we met?” he asks, his voice as ball-clenchingly deep as I’ve been hoping.
“Only in my dreams,” I flirt, shooting him a wink and a playful smile. “Aldis.” I offer a hand, and he takes it, grip lingering as he looks me up and down.
I preen under his gaze, possibly even flexing just a little so he can get the full effect of my own hard work. His hands are almost as roughly calloused as mine. I’m guessing he works a physical job, not cutting them up on rocks the way I have half my life.
“Bowen,” he says, standing up and whipping his shirt over his head with a cocky smirk of his own. He opens his locker and tosses the sweat-drenched shirt into the open duffel bag, trading it for a clean one.
“I don’t know about you, but I worked up quite an appetite today. Let me buy you lunch?” I offer, leaning against the row of lockers, watching as he loses his shorts next, not bothering to hide his thick cock and huge, sagging balls.
“I’d rather just cut to the chase and go back to my place for a quick fuck,” he answers bluntly.
A slow grin spreads over my lips. “Honey, you read my mind.”
* * *
BOWEN
My heart pounds with the thrill of doing something so not me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint, and I’m certainly not a virgin, but jumping into bed with a man I’ve known all of ten seconds? Yeah, that’s a new one.
I check my rearview mirror to make sure he’s still behind me. It would be hard to lose my rusty green pickup with my company logo plastered on the side, and luckily he is right on my ass in his much newer-looking truck. My cock swells at the memory of how solid his body looked, sweat drenching his shirt and making his skin glisten.
I grip the steering wheel tighter and put on my blinker to signal the turn onto the next street.
This is exactly what I need, a good hard pounding from a perfect stranger. That’s why I’d been thumbing through the app to begin with, my skin crawling with the need to feel something other than the heaviness that’s been sitting on my chest since I woke up this morning to find my roommate’s girlfriend, Jess, in the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of Hawthorne’s large T-shirts, barely covering her round ass as she reached up into the cabinet to grab her favorite mug.
She has a favorite mug. That’s when it hit me. He’s serious about her. In an instant, I saw visions of the two of them married with a mess of kids, and selfishly, I panicked at the thought of our movie nights and gym weekends vanishing, no more stumbling home drunk, laughing all the way, no more impromptu camping trips to the middle of nowhere, just the two of us.
My chest tightens again until I almost can’t breathe.
Is there anything more cliché and pathetic than a gay dude with a relentless crush on his straight best friend?
My house comes into view, and I force the storm of emotions raging inside of me down as deep as I can. With any luck, a good, hard fuck will be just the cure for what ails me. I pull into the driveway and Aldis is right behind me. Hawthorne’s Jeep isn’t here, which is probably a good thing. I can only imagine the ribbing I would get for bringing a random home from the gym.
“Nice place,” Aldis says, shoving his keys into his pocket, his head tilted to take in the house as he follows me to the front door.
“Thanks,” I grunt. Normally, I might launch into an explanation of how I bought this house with the money my dad left me when he passed a few years ago and that Hawthorne and I have been doing DIY projects here and there to really make the place shine. But what we’re doing here isn’t about getting to know each other. It’s about getting primal and going to another place for a while.
Why did I pass on him at first? I look him up and down again, more than appreciating the view. I suppose that’s something to analyze later. Right now, I need to turn my brain off for a while.