Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
DIEGO
Walking into Sweat just before eight in the morning, I’m feeling hyped and ready to go.
I didn’t realize how much I’d been itching for a coach and some accountability until I woke up this morning and couldn’t wait to jump out of bed and get my ass to the gym.
Slaps looking confused to see me up and dressed so early says a hell of a lot about the routine I’ve fallen into while I’ve been laid up, too.
Before my injury, I was almost always up before the sun, getting in a high-protein breakfast, then hitting my home gym.
I’ve let myself get soft and lazy, but it’s back to the grind now, and I hope Callan wasn’t all talk about how hard he plans to ride me.
When there aren’t two guys openly kissing, Sweat isn’t so different from any other public gym I’ve been to…
aside from the rainbow mural on the far wall.
There are buff, sweaty dudes pumping iron and using the machines, the manly scent of hard work and determination hanging heavy in the air, and a familiar, comforting chorus of grunting, music, and metallic clangs.
I inhale deeply and let the feeling of home settle over me.
The only place I would feel more at home is an ice rink.
Soon, I promise myself, and then I spot Callan coming out of the locker room.
I wave and he up-nods me.
As I get closer to him, my eyes do an instinctive sweep over the bare skin on his neck and collarbone that his tank top doesn’t cover.
I’m interested to know whether I’ll be able to spot any signs that I was right and he was at a gay bar trying to hook up last night when we were texting.
I’ve never spared much brain power wondering what it’s like when two dudes go at it, but suddenly I’m a little curious.
Maybe because I’ve never known a gay man personally before?
At least not as far as I know. Do they get into kissing or are they more likely to get right to the main event?
Is it weird to lick along a guy’s neck and feel a little bit of sweat and stubble under your tongue?
Does a man’s skin taste different than a woman’s?
It must, right? Since women spend so much time slathering their skin with all kinds of lotions and perfumes.
It’s been so damn long since I’ve gotten any action, just the thought of anyone touching and kissing and groping stirs a curious heat in my gut. See? I can’t be homophobic if the thought of two guys sucking on each other’s necks makes me the tiniest bit horny. I should tell Callan that.
“Did I nick myself shaving or something?” He reaches up to rub the spot just below his Adam’s apple that I’m accidentally staring at.
The question snaps me out of my bizarre train of thought, and I shake my head with a chuckle. “No, sorry, I’m just spacing out. I haven’t been up this early in a minute.”
The evil grin that spreads across his face should probably make me nervous, but instead it gets my heart racing with a little bit of excitement. I’m so ready to work up a sweat.
“Fergie, Fergie, Fergie.” He tsks. “Your slacking days are over, bro.”
“I’m counting on it.” I look past him towards the door he just came out of that’s clearly marked Locker Room, and I jerk my chin in that direction. “Let me just go put my bag away and then my ass is all yours.”
He arches an eyebrow at me and crosses his arms over his chest, the motion making his biceps bulge and creating just a little bit of man cleavage between his pecs where his tank top sags low. Honestly, he might as well not even be wearing that thing for how much it covers.
“You’re brave enough to go into a gay locker room?” he taunts.
I roll my eyes. Seriously, I know I panicked for a hot second when I walked in here yesterday, but what am I going to have to do to prove to him that I’m chill with the gay stuff?
He’s obviously not going to take my word for it, so I guess I’ll just have to show him that it doesn’t bother me, and eventually he’ll let up.
“Dude, you haven’t seen me naked.” I smirk as I skirt around him, spinning so I’m still facing him as I start to back into the locker room door.
“I look so damn good that I can make straight guys do a double take. Getting ogled in the locker room won’t be a new experience for me.
” I wink, then elbow the door open and step through it.
It’s early, so it’s pretty quiet inside.
I can hear a couple of deep voices echoing off the tiled walls and the sound of a shower running.
After Callan’s teasing, I’m almost disappointed that it’s just a regular-ass locker room.
I pick an open locker in the first row and stuff my bag inside.
A guy saunters by, clearly fresh out of the shower with his hair and skin wet and a towel slung over his shoulder, his dick swinging freely without a care.
Just like the general gym atmosphere, there’s something weirdly comforting about the sight.
When you’ve spent half your life in locker rooms, there’s nothing scandalous about male nudity—it’s just guys being comfortable in their own skin.
He does give me a quick once-over as he passes, and I puff my chest up a little bit.
The validation is nice after everything I’ve dealt with this year, no matter where it comes from.
So, hell yeah, I’ll take it, even if I don’t have any intention of going there.
I’ve gotta say, dude has a nice, tight ass though. This gym must be good.
Callan is waiting for me when I step back out, and he still has that wicked grin on his face.
“Ready to hate me?” he asks.
I rub my hands together and roll my shoulders to loosen myself up. “Let’s hit it, Coach.”
CALLAN
“We’re going to warm up and then I want to get a baseline today.
I need to see where you’re at with your recovery and how your strength and stamina are doing so I can make a plan for the best way to get you to your goals by October,” I tell Diego as I lead him over to the treadmills for some light cardio to get us started.
“You sound all professional and shit,” he says with a laugh, hopping onto the nearest treadmill without hesitation and expertly keying in the settings he wants.
Most guys who sign up for personal training are beginners, just starting to get familiar with the gym and the best way to create the body and lifestyle they want.
It’s kind of exciting to get the chance to train an athlete for a change and really put my skills and education to work.
I jump onto the treadmill next to him and start a warm-up jog that’s just a few miles per hour faster than his.
He glances over and laughs again.
“What?” I ask innocently. He shakes his head. “Is ‘professional’ a problem?” I circle back to his comment.
Diego shrugs, falling into a steady rhythm that gives me a chance to look over and make some mental notes about his stride and form.
His hip is still tight, and it’s either still sore or he’s subconsciously babying it a bit because his brain is holding on to the memory of the pain and afraid to repeat the experience.
“Nothing wrong with it, I guess I was just hoping…” He trails off.
“Hoping what?” I finish my visual assessment with a quick glance at the slight bulge in his shorts.
Very contained, very supported. I’m not perving on him, I’m making sure as his trainer that he’s not going to injure himself in any way.
Ball chafing is a serious issue that I will not allow to run rampant at Sweat. Not on my watch.
“It’s dumb, but I guess you were just a pretty good hang at the bar the other day, and I was kind of hoping that we’d be more like friends or something,” he says it all fast, in between his controlled breaths and rhythmic footfalls, his eyes trained on the TV mounted on the wall ahead, playing highlights from the soccer game that aired last night.
A grin stretches across my face, and I run a little faster with a burst of pure adrenaline. Diego Ferguson was hoping to be friends with me? I mean, I get it, I am a good hang, but damn, why is it so cute how shy and shit he’s being about it?
“You know I won’t go any easier on you if we’re friends, right?
” I joke, and he huffs out a laugh, the pace of his jog starting to catch up with him.
I make another mental note that stamina definitely needs to be high on the list. I was right, he has been slacking a bit on his rehab. That’s okay; I prefer a challenge.
“I don’t want you to go easy on me. In fact, I need you to be a hard-ass. I’ve been moping and going way too damn easy on myself.”
I nod in understanding and we let the conversation fade for now to focus on the warm-up.
I catch Fender peeking through the door to the boxing gym to catch a glimpse of Diego. I shake my head and scowl at him in warning when he meets my gaze. The last thing I need is anyone here making Diego feel like he’s under a microscope. I’m sure he’s getting enough of that already.
I’ve been trying to wean myself off of my addiction to stalking him on social media, since it feels borderline invasive now that I’m training him.
So, I didn’t happen to see the news about his ex’s engagement until I got home from the bar last night and crawled into bed after a long shower.
I’m dying to know how he’s taking it, but I’m not about to ask.
I can’t imagine how it must feel to be publicly cheated on after a potentially career ending injury—and with a teammate, no less.
I can see why he might be looking for a friend just as much as he’s looking for a trainer. Hell, I can do that for him. It wouldn’t exactly be a hardship to invite him out to watch a game here and there or get together to play a round of pool or something.
“You play pool?” I ask.
He hesitates for a second before he answers. “I’m sure I could learn.”
In all honesty, pool isn’t really at the top of my list either. I know how to play, but it’s a little too mathematical for my taste.
“What do you like to do?” I ask instead.
He’s quiet for a long minute again, and I look over to see a frown on his face like he’s thinking way too damn hard about such a simple question.
“Sorry. I’m trying to remember what I used to do for fun before hockey became my sole focus.” He chuckles. “Am I going to sound like I’m fifteen if I say the arcade?”
“The arcade fucking rules.” Not that I’ve been since I was probably about fifteen myself, but I’m definitely game for it.
“Yeah, it does.” He slows his jog a bit and holds a fist out for a bump.
I happily give it to him, then slow my machine to walking pace. He does the same, breathing a little heavy as he reaches for the towel he slung over the handlebars and using it to dab the back of his neck and his forehead.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Don’t judge me; I swear I’m going to do the work to get back where I need to be.”
“I’m not here to judge, I’m here to help you do exactly that.”
I give him a second to catch his breath and take a drink of water.
I notice his eyes wandering down a few rows to where Percy is working out on the Stairmaster.
Butch is standing behind him with a playfully lecherous smirk that I’m sure Percy can see in the wall of mirrors right in front of him.
Then, Butch leans forward and bites his boyfriend right on the ass. Percy yelps and starts to laugh.
“Is that how trainers around here usually motivate their clients?” Diego jokes. “If I jog too slowly, are you going to bite me on the ass?”
“Only if you pay for the premium training package,” I deadpan, and he waffles his head back and forth for a second with a teasing grin on his face like he’s considering the option.
Don’t threaten me with a good time, Fergie.
Not that I’m going to say that out loud.
He’s trying hard to prove that he’s not some homophobic meathead jock, but I doubt he’d be so comfortable if he knew I had a crush on him.
It’s not even a crush though, just an attraction that I’m sure will fade once my dick gets the memo that Diego isn’t an option.
“Come on.” I pick up my towel and snap it at him playfully. “I want to watch you do some squats so I can check your range of motion.”
“You got it, Coach.”
Damn, if I want to get over this attraction I should probably tell him to stop with all the “Coach” stuff. I didn’t even know that was a kink I had, but every time he says it, a spike of heat goes straight to my dick.
I’ll tell him just to call me Callan… later… eventually. Actually, Coach is probably fine. I’m sure my dick will get over that too if he says it enough, like after I’ve put him through a hard workout and he’s all sweaty and out of breath.
I groan inwardly and follow him over to the squat rack. My dick had better hurry up and get the message soon or I’m going to end up spending a lot of time over the next three months with an uncomfortable hard-on tucked into my jock.