10 Ways to Accidentally Fall in Love

Chapter 2

Joey

“Joey, need that drill?”

I pass it over to my cousin. “All yours.”

“Thanks,” he says, getting the wall anchors put in for the cabinets we’re installing. “What’re you doing, anyway?”

I puff out a breath, eyes returning to my phone. “Trying to work up the courage to text that guy I was telling you about.”

“From the gym?”

I nod.

“Just do it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

My mind flashes back to the way Brad so brazenly dropped his towel in front of me in the locker room after giving me his number. Either he’s incredibly lacking in self-consciousness, which is a distinct possibility. Or he’s advertising the fact that he’s down for a good time.

And it’s not that I wouldn’t be into that. Eventually . But I’m nearly thirty. I’m at the point in my life where I’m looking for more than just a good time.

“I’ll do it later,” I tell Iggy, slipping my phone in my pocket. “I shouldn’t be texting on the clock, anyway.”

He makes a psht sound. “You know my dad won’t care. So long as we get the job done, you can take breaks as you need them.”

“Still, I’ll stick to flirting when I’m not on Uncle Johnny’s dime.”

Iggy huffs a laugh, shaking his head at me. Maybe my uncle really wouldn’t care, but the truth is I don’t know him all that well. My parents divorced when I was young, and I stayed in New Hampshire with my mom. Iggy is my cousin on my dad’s side. Before moving to Nevada a couple weeks back, I saw him a cumulative handful of times throughout my entire life. Same with Johnny.

But with my dad having passed last year and my uncle extending the offer, once again, for me to come join the family business, I thought maybe it was time I got closer to my relatives. They never had an issue with my sexuality, after all.

That was only my dad.

“Hey, where do you want to grab lunch today?” Iggy asks, hefting the frame of the cabinet into place.

I step up on a stool beside him to tighten the screws. “Tacos?”

Iggy smirks. “Oh, really? Tacos again? Don’t suppose it has anything to do with the view from that particular restaurant?”

“There’s no telling if Brad will even be at the gym,” I point out.

“Uh-huh,” my cousin mutters. “You’ve been moon-eyeing him all week, Joey. Just text him .”

I push Iggy’s face away, shaking my head when he laughs. At least connecting with my family has been pretty great. Even if Iggy is a bit of a shit-stirrer.

After we get the rest of the custom-made kitchen cabinets installed, Iggy and I head out for lunch. Neither of us bothers changing out of our dusty work clothes, but we do wash up a bit. We’re not heathens.

My leg bounces once we’re seated at the restaurant, our table affording us a nice view of the gym through the window. Iggy snorts, but I pay him no mind.

It’s not that I’ve been stalking Brad. Truly, I haven’t. But I caught sight of him last week in nearly this exact same spot, and… fuck . It’s like I was struck on impact. The guy was smiling while doing burpees , of all things, his eyes bright and his enthusiasm infectious even from across the street. And when he tossed his head back, laughing at something his friend was saying? I had the distinct thought that Christ, I’d give anything to hear him laugh for me like that . This guy I didn’t even know.

Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but attraction doesn’t always. I had to introduce myself. Get closer. Try .

Luckily, I happened to be in the market for a new gym.

I don’t know why I’m hesitating now. He gave me his number. Invited me to work out with him, at the very least. It’s a no-brainer.

“Hey, is that him?” Iggy asks.

My breath catches as Brad walks past the windows at the front of the gym. He appears to be alone today as he settles in for some stretching on a mat beside the free weights.

I debate for all of two seconds before pulling out my phone.

“ Yes ,” Iggy hisses.

I type out a quick text to the number Brad gave me, not letting myself second-guess.

Me: Hey, this is Joey. Still up for that workout?

I watch as Brad pauses, tugging his phone from the pocket of his shorts. His face lights up, and Iggy slaps my chest from across the table. My heart hammers as Brad types his response. It only takes a second before my phone chimes.

Brad: Joey Kangaroo! Yeah, man. When are you free?

I have to wait for our waiter to take our order before typing back. I’m not even sure I ask for the tacos I like, preoccupied as I am.

Me: Would Friday after five work?

“What’s he saying?” Iggy asks, sipping his water.

“We’re figuring out a time to meet.”

I nearly fumble my phone when another text comes through.

Brad: Works for me! I live down the street, so text me when you’re on your way, and I’ll walk over. Can’t wait to see you!

“We’re meeting Friday night,” I tell Iggy, nearly lightheaded with the way my pulse is still racing.

My cousin slaps my chest again. Repeatedly.

“All right, all right,” I mumble, batting his hand away, even as my lips quirk.

“Look how excited he is,” Iggy says, sounding amused. “He’s like a puppy.”

I glance out the window again. Brad has a huge grin on his face as he stretches his hamstrings, his head bobbing back and forth like he’s singing a tune to himself.

He does look like a puppy, if said puppy had the most gorgeous green eyes I’ve ever seen and the sleekly muscled body of a grown-ass man.

If Brad is this excited, though… Well, maybe this could mean more to him than a quick fling after all.

I try to quell my own ridiculous smile, but I’m not sure I manage it. I shoot Brad one more text before setting my phone aside, determined to keep my cool until Friday.

Me: Looking forward to it.

When I get to the gym Friday after work, my eyes sweep the room on autopilot. I don’t see Brad, but he texted that he was on his way, so I drop my bag off in the locker room while I wait for him to arrive.

I’m just settling in to warm up at the treadmills when I spot him heading my way. Christ , he’s pretty. Those light, piercing eyes framed by thick, dark lashes. The expressive eyebrows and lips seemingly always tipped into a smile. The dark hair and coarse stubble that makes him look older than that boyish grin would suggest.

“Hi,” I say rather eloquently, waiting atop my treadmill as Brad comes to a stop in front of me.

He holds up his hand for a high five. “Joe-bro! How’s it going? You look good,” he says rapid fire, blatantly eyeing me up and down in a way that has my pulse tripping. “Not too tired after your day?”

I dutifully slap his palm as I sort through his greeting. “Not too tired,” I assure him. “You look good, too.”

“Thanks, man.” He shoots me a smile as he steps up onto the treadmill next to mine. “I’m glad you texted. I needed this. Been on my ass since breakfast.”

Brad starts up his machine, and I follow suit, setting the pace for a slow jog. “What is it you do, exactly? For your non-office office job?”

He snorts a laugh. “I work for this gaming company called DreamWyld. Ever heard of it?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say slowly, wondering who hasn’t. “ Run, Run, Ricochet ? I love that game.”

“Dude! Me, too,” Brad says, jogging now beside me. “It’s my favorite. I helped design it.”

“Holy crap,” I say, startled enough for my feet to miss a step. I recover quickly. “That’s…awesome.”

“You think so?” he asks, shooting me another grin.

“Yeah,” I tell him, meaning it. I can’t even imagine the complexities that go into video game design. “So you get to, what, play video games all day?”

“Yup,” he says, nodding his head several times. “Well, mostly. There’s some other stuff in there, too, but I stay pretty rooted to my computer, you know? Which is why this feels so nice .”

I chuckle at his happy groan. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone as enthusiastic about working out as Brad.

“How about you?” he asks, barely out of breath. “Do any screwing today? Screw…drivering? Wait, no. Drilling! Drill any holes today?” He pauses before muttering, “Why does that sound so odd?”

“I, uh…” A cough sneaks its way out as I try to figure out what all that was. And why I was into it.

Brad looks over at me sympathetically before pulling something out of his pocket. “Dude. Here,” he says, holding out a couple…cough drops? “Figured you might need these.”

I hop up onto the sides of the treadmill and stare at him. “You brought me cough drops?”

“Yeah, man. Gotta look out for my bro.”

Stunned at the thoughtful—albeit unnecessary—concern, I accept the wrapped lozenges. “Thank you,” I manage. I’m not remotely sick, but the wink Brad sends me does have me feeling slightly feverish.

“You bet,” he says easily.

Fuck . This man. I barely know him, and I’m already wondering what kind of fence he’d like around his backyard. White picket?

Slipping the cough drops into my pocket, I hop back onto the belt of the treadmill. Brad and I jog alongside one another for a while, the sounds of our breaths and slapping feet a constant amongst the echoing clangs and light chatter inside the gym. He called me one step down from a bear the other day, but I’m not that much larger than him. Maybe an inch in height, a little bulkier, sure. But Brad has that lean muscle I’ve always found myself attracted to.

Honestly, I find every single thing about the guy attractive. Even the way he says bro .

I think I might be in trouble.

“You loose enough?” Brad asks.

My head whips his way, and it takes me a long second to realize he’s talking about our warm-up. “Yeah, uh, I’m good.”

“Cool, cool,” he says, stopping his machine. He steps off the treadmill and picks up his water bottle, guzzling a bit down. “So, what do you want to do first? Arms? Legs?”

“I’m easy,” I tell him. “You pick.”

His grin is mildly concerning. “Let’s do deadlifts.”

Oh boy .

“Do you plan on torturing us today?” I tease as we head in that direction.

He shakes his head, brown hair flopping around a bit. “Nah, man,” he says seriously. “I’m not into sadism. Or masochism, for that matter. Giving or receiving pain isn’t my thing.”

“Good to know,” I mumble, slipping that fact away and feeling rather flushed.

Brad goes on, seemingly oblivious to my mental and physical state as he stops in front of the weight station. “ This , on the other hand…” He starts loading up his weights. Nothing too outrageous. “This, I enjoy.”

His grin is evidence of that fact. I wait on the sidelines as Brad gets his barbell ready. Once set, he adjusts his grip and starts his reps. Turns out, deadlifts are a lot more enjoyable than I remember. I wish I could say my eyes aren’t glued to Brad’s ass as he repeatedly lifts the weights off the ground, but I’d be lying. It’s fruitless to even pretend otherwise.

It’s clear Brad isn’t trying to beat any records or even bulk up. No, he’s all energy and boundless joy, like he gets a thrill out of the simple act of exercising. I can’t help but wonder, to my own detriment, if he’s that enthusiastic in bed.

It’s far too soon to be thinking that way—and I dismiss the thought before my body has time to properly react—but I can’t deny Brad has me more excited about a potential first date than I’ve been in a long damn time.

Does he want kids?

“Your turn,” Brad says, smiling as he steps aside and wipes the sweat off his forehead.

I clear my throat and get into place in front of the barbell, but Brad’s hand on my hip has me stalling.

“You can probably handle more weight than me,” he points out. “Want me to add twenty, or do you wanna keep it light? No shame in that. Not trying to pressure you.”

“Go ahead and add fifty,” I find myself saying.

And great , now I’m showing off?

Brad simply grins before grabbing two twenty-five-pound weights. We each attach one, and then I get into place, taking a breath to center myself. It’s well under my deadlift limit, but the weight of Brad’s stare is heavy on my person.

Brad doesn’t distract me as I do my reps, but he’s there in the periphery, making quiet remarks like booyah and you got this . It’s weirdly motivating, and I finish my lifts feeling more energized than when I began. Brad is there in an instant, his hand squeezing the side of my neck. My pulse takes off like a rocket, eyes dropping to Brad’s lips and that infectious grin, but his grip doesn’t linger.

“Yeah, man. That’s how it’s done!” he says, holding his hand in the air. “Give it to me hard.”

Good grief .

Unable to deny him, I slap his palm.

“My Joey Kangaroo,” he says happily, that ridiculous nickname I can’t help but love. “Come on, let’s do another two sets before we move on.”

I nod, finding myself smiling right along with him. “Sounds good.”

And the strange thing is—it really, really does.