Chapter 3
Chapter three
Rory
The coffee remaining in the coffeemaker was questionable.
I thought I’d made some last night, but that could’ve been two nights ago. And August didn’t drink coffee because he was crazy and got energy from hopes and dreams or some shit.
“Don’t drink it,” August called over as he walked into the kitchen. “That’s been sitting there for three days now.”
My nose wrinkled. Fine, maybe I could grab a coffee on my way into work later.
I glanced at my phone to see no new texts apart from the Brannon family chain blowing up like usual.
A small part of me had been hoping Harper’s dad would gift me some dick pics, even if it was just to check in on his piercing.
However, that had been a few days ago, and nada.
Probably for the best. Harps would kill me if I made a pass at her dad.
She hadn’t wanted the overshare on the piercing her dad got, but being the amazing friend I was, I filled her in anyway yesterday.
“Please don’t tell me you did drink it? You’re still standing there staring.
” August was shirtless, which was worth an ogle because my roommate was a hottie who kept in shape and happened to be a total sweetheart.
Way too sweet for me, to be honest. He’d started college, hated it, then dropped out to apprentice at Alchemy Ink, which had been a perfect fit.
The guy’s watercolor-style art was gorgeous.
“Nah,” I said and then scrubbed my face. Most times I’d blurt out whatever was on my mind, but this percolated a bit deeper. And while I was a dumbass, August worked with both Harper and me, and I didn’t want to cause problems on the job.
“You bug Owen yet about the tattoo convention?” August asked.
I squeezed the back of my neck as I plunked down into the open seat.
The idea had been brewing around in my mind for a while, and it kept reappearing, which was a rarity for me.
No one took me seriously when pitching anything because I was the king of unfinished projects.
Ideas burst into my brain like fireworks, but they left just as quickly.
However, this one still had claws in me.
As much as I joked about running low on clients, the truth was, this line of work was unpredictable, which I loved and loathed in the same breath.
And making more of a name for myself at a show, getting to put myself out there in a larger forum, would be an amazing way to carve a place on the Philly landscape, not just as a no-name piercer in the burbs.
I had no intention of leaving Alchemy Ink, but damn, the urge to prove myself rose up in a real way.
To prove I could not only keep a job but excel at it.
“Maybe,” I muttered, grabbing a rogue spoon hanging out on the table and tapping out a beat on the surface. Thunk, thunk, thunk.
“Right, so you haven’t yet.” August flashed me a grin as he sat opposite me with a bowl of some flaky shit he called cereal. It looked foul to me. He started shoveling it into his mouth with gusto.
My phone buzzed, and I lunged for it on reflex.
Text.
Unknown number.
My heart thudded hard as I clicked it open.
Hey, it’s Wyatt. I was going to go to the gym on my lunch when I realized I hadn’t asked if exercise would cause any issues with the piercing.
My grin came on automatic as I quickly saved his number.
Shouldn’t be an issue, though I’d make sure to rinse off post all that sweating.
An idea leapt into my head, but before I could dissuade myself, I’d typed out a message and sent it.
If you want, I can come work out with you and check it after.
Terrible plan. Terrible, terrible plan, and I’d just guaranteed he’d never text me again. I sank back in my seat and tipped my head back to stare up at the ceiling.
“Did a hookup message you or something?” August asked with his mouth full of corn-bran clusterflakes. “What’s the deal?”
My phone buzzed again, and I checked the message.
If you’re serious, yeah. I wasn’t kidding about being a lonely old divorcee. I’ll be at DiMarco Gym at noon.
My fingers typed at light speed.
See you there.
Truthfully, I didn’t need the gym at this point.
I’d done so many laps around the house trying to quell the jittery energy rushing through me that I’d gotten a solid cardio workout in.
But seriously, Wyatt was the hottest guy I’d seen in a while, and there was no way in hell I’d pass up on the chance to watch him work out.
If he needed me to spot him for weights, I could die happy.
DiMarco Gym was a familiar one for me, and I went on and off with gym memberships.
I was great with a regular regimen for a while, while things were shiny, and then I got distracted.
Movement always factored into my daily equation, but sometimes my workouts involved runs at the park instead of the whole reps at the gym thing.
I pulled into the parking space and turned off the ignition of my beat-up Chevy. The fact I didn’t do a flying leap out of my car was a testament to my willpower. Instead, I took a beat to scan the lot and spotted a familiar truck. Jackpot.
When I got out, the driver’s side door to the truck cracked open, and Wyatt stepped out.
The sight of him stopped me still, which was a rarity in and of itself.
The man wore gray sweatpants.
Like he purposefully tried to dangle his glorious cock in front of me. His dark hair was slicked back, a little windswept, and he lifted a hand in greeting. He hadn’t bothered with a jacket, even with the early winter cold, just wearing a hoodie with Anderson Carpentry on the front.
He could nail me any time, baby.
His dark eyes crinkled with his smile, and damn, he should come with a warning label, because my pulse sped up.
“I should’ve mentioned I can get you in as a guest on my membership,” he said. “So I’m glad I ran into you out here.”
“It’s a great gym,” I said, starting to stride toward the entrance. “What’s your usual workout? You look like a weights guy.”
“Is that something you can tell on sight?” he asked, his brow crinkling. “Guilty, though. Best to keep in shape for the job.”
I licked my lips. Push a little or play it safe. Safe was for losers. “Do you know how many gym junkies are gay? It’s competitive out there.”
Wyatt let out a “hmm” sound low enough to make my cock wake up, like a diesel engine rumble. “Six months divorced and I’m learning a whole slew of new stuff.”
Damn, if he’d let me, I’d teach him so much more.
“We can start on cardio if you want,” I teased. “Sure all the jogging will feel great.”
Wyatt winced as he held the door open for me and gestured. My heart skipped a beat as I stepped inside first. He strode up to the front desk and handed over a card to the chick there. “He’s with me.”
Damn, I liked that way too much. Crushing on Wyatt Anderson was effortless, which could become a problem because Harps would straight up murder me. However, my impulse control was shit, and Wyatt was the shiniest distraction I’d found in ages.
“Weights first,” he said. “Then I can decide how much I want to torture myself.” Wyatt led the way, which was no hardship because his gray sweats showcased those muscular glutes to perfection, and well, fuck, I could write sonnets on the sight.
Even though I was a slutty bottom on my best day, I’d never turn down eating a fine ass. And that ass deserved to be devoured.
The gym wasn’t super crowded at noon midweek, which I appreciated because otherwise we’d have a wait for certain equipment.
Wyatt found a clear weight rack and dropped the bag on his shoulder to the ground.
He then stripped off his hoodie in a fluid motion.
My jaw just about dropped. Mr. Anderson was wearing very slutty gray sweatpants and now a very slutty tank top that highlighted how often he got physical.
His big broad shoulders were on clear display, and the tank dipped low enough to showcase peeks of those tanned pecs as well as a furry chest. Ngh.
If I had to work out with him, I was going to be in agony.
Right to horny jail for me.
I let out a low whistle. “What are you doing working out when you already look like that?”
Wyatt ducked his head and squeezed his nape, a ruddy flush rising to his cheeks. “Working out is the only reason I’m still able to do manual labor at my age.”
“Mm’kay, we’re going to have to figure out a system of sorts. Every time you drop an ‘at my age,’ then I’m going to drop a lurid and explicit sex story.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest and fixed him with a look. “Those seem to shut most of the people in my life up.”
A sharp laugh exploded from Wyatt. “You’re something else, Rory Brannon.”
“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” I said with a sniff. “Now, are you going to lift first or should I embarrass myself?”
“Mind spotting me?” he asked.
Hallelujah. My prayers had been answered.
“That’s what I’m here for, right?” I teased, stepping to the side of the weight bench.
Wyatt shook his head, his cheeks flushing again. I was grateful he took my naturally flirty self in stride, since not every straight guy did. My big mouth had gotten me in trouble before. My stomach churned—some cuts were deeper than others. Not like I learned any lessons in the process.
He loaded the barbell with a few more weights, about one hundred and twenty pounds. God, I bet he grunted while he lifted too. If there was sweating and grunting and flexing, I could fantasize to my heart’s content.
He lay back on the bench, and damn, the sight of him sprawled out there turned me on so badly, his thick thighs clear from the way those sweats showcased them.
My cock stirred to life, and trying to keep it tamped down while spotting for him would be a tricky situation.
He licked his lips, and the urge to lean down and trace the path with my tongue rose something fierce.
“All ready. I’m ready for it,” he said, and I wrapped my hands between his to help him lift it off the rack. He gripped it tight, his focus switching to the barbell as he lowered it toward his chest. Fuck, the way his arms bulged as he performed his reps was ridiculously hot.
“I’ll just lean here and look pretty until you need me again,” I said, even though I knew better than to lean against the weight rack.
Wyatt snorted. “Not. Helping. Rory.”
His breaths came out faster as he pumped the barbell, and sweat beaded across his forehead. The cords of his neck stood out, and fuck, the sight of him working out was so damn hot.
Clearly, it had been too long since I’d gotten laid. Maybe a few weeks ago? If he weren’t freshly dick-pierced, Harper’s dad, recently divorced, and straight, I’d be begging him to fuck me in the bathroom here.
The bulge between his legs was significant, and I remembered the heft and feel of his cock since I’d been the one to pierce it.
He let out a grunt, the low sound stirring my groin.
I obviously needed to be more concerned with my own cock than focusing on his.
I didn’t make a habit of spotting for people at the gym, since I couldn’t stay in one place for the life of me, but Wyatt Anderson was such pornographic eye candy that I couldn’t help but ogle him.
The eye-fucking turned into enough of a sport that I remained in my spot.
The flex of his tanned muscles mesmerized me, and I wanted to lick the glisten of sweat off them. His armpits were on display, tufts of hair peeking out, and fuck, I wanted to get close there too. Armpits were a real fucking thing for me.
“Okay, I’m close to finishing up,” he said, continuing to move the barbell at an even tempo. “You ready for me?”
“I like to always be prepped,” I said cheekily.
Wyatt’s grunt mixed with a snort, and he thrust the barbell up.
I helped him rerack it, and he slowly pushed up from the weight bench.
His gym shirt had a big wet spot in the center, and he lifted the hem up to mop at his forehead, which revealed a delicious six-pack.
His shoulders heaved with exertion, and the boyish grin on his face caused my adrenaline to pick up.
He needed to stop being so damn attractive. Either that, or I needed to stop putting myself right in his way.
“Ready for your turn?” he asked.
I heaved a sigh. I had signed up for this, I guess. “Fine, but I’m taking off at least half the weight on the barbell. You’ll need to keep your eyes glued to me the whole time, okay?”
“You’re a handful, aren’t you?” he teased, his dark eyes crinkling at the edges. The way he said it struck me differently than normal, an amusement there that I liked. Usually when people told me I was a handful, a weary sigh accompanied the statement.
I offered a wink. “You have no idea.”