Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
DIEGO
I’m already feeling stronger after just a few days of training with Callan.
I have a long way to go, but at least I I’m making some progress again instead of being stuck in that mopey limbo I’ve been in for months.
These training sessions are giving me purpose.
They’re giving me motivation. The soreness in my muscles is a welcome reminder of the hard work it’s going to take to get where I need to be.
And the best part of it all is that he’s working me hard enough that I’m too busy and too tired to spend hours at a time watching all the repetitive coverage about my injury and the engagement.
The hot late-afternoon sun beats down on the back of my neck as I make my way down the block to the corner store so I can pick up a few groceries to make myself dinner.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I hesitate to pull it out.
It might be the guys again, and I’m just not in the fucking mood to deal with it.
It’s also possible that it’s Callan though.
He’s texted me a few times, mostly to discuss scheduling or send me videos of techniques we’ve talked about, but that’s still a hell of a lot better than all the fake concern and dumb-ass pranks.
I pull out my phone and grin when I click on my messages and see that it is actually from Callan.
CALLAN: Gonna be hanging at Neo’s again with some of the guys if you’re bored and want to swing by.
I do a quick pivot on the sidewalk before I’m even finished reading the text.
Hell to the fucking yeah, I want to get some uncomplicated bro time in.
I shoot back a thumbs-up emoji, then shove my phone into my pocket again and start towards Neo’s—the same bar where we first ran into each other.
It’s only a few blocks from my place, so it’s an easy walk, even in the heat.
I get a few lingering glances from people who I’m sure either recognize me or are trying to place me.
It’s hard to tell whether they’re encouraging or pitying though, and I don’t want to waste the energy trying to figure it out, so I just plaster a scowl on my face and keep moving.
There’s no game on tonight, so the bar is a little quieter than the last time I was in.
It still takes me a few seconds to do a visual sweep and realize I must have beat Callan here.
There are a couple of guys sitting at the bar—one with a backward baseball cap and a friendly grin, and the other wearing a tank top that makes Callan’s look modest. There are some open stools right next to them, so I snag a seat and up-nod them in greeting when they glance my way.
The one with the massive pecs turning his tank top into a man titty thong does a double take.
“Hey, you’re Diego Ferguson, right?”
I’m caught between the instinct to preen and the reflex to flinch. I settle for a tense smile and a nod. They’re complete strangers, but I know they’re wondering the same shit everyone else is.
“Yes, I’m working my ass off to be ready for the season. No, I don’t know if I’m going to get traded, but I hope to hell I don’t. And I’m fucking thrilled that my ex is engaged to Brody. That about cover it?”
Tank Top looks stunned and maybe a little embarrassed, but Backward Baseball Cap is still grinning like some kind of golden retriever.
“Sucks, man,” he says in a friendly tone. “I’m Slater, by the way. This is AJ.” He points at his friend and then waves down the bartender. “Let me get your first drink.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, putting my elbows on the bar top and letting my shoulders sag just a little. “Sorry to sound like a dick, it’s just getting fucking old.”
“For the record, I wasn’t going to ask any of that,” AJ says.
“No?” I chuckle. “What were you going to ask?”
“How heavy is the Championship Cup? It must weigh a ton, right?”
“Eh.” I shrug. “About thirty-some pounds, I think. It’s hefty, but not too bad.”
“Nice,” he says, sounding properly impressed before taking a sip of his beer.
The bartender makes his way over and I order whatever’s on tap and another for Callan, and open my own tab.
“You been crawling out of your skin with so much downtime?” Slater asks.
“You have no fucking idea,” I groan. “I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve spent so much time wearing an ass groove into my couch.
I’m hitting it hard now though, and the season will start before I know it.
” I think I’m trying to encourage myself as much as I’m trying to reassure a couple of fans.
“Hell yeah, man.” Slater slaps me on the back, and I grin at the easy vibe of it all.
“Oh, hey, I think you’ve got another fan here,” AJ says with a smirk, jerking his chin subtly.
I roll my neck like I’m working out a kink and casually look down the bar.
It’s not hard to spot who he’s talking about.
Right at the end there’s a pretty blonde with her tits nearly spilling out of her top and her eyes set on me in a way that’s not even in the neighborhood of subtle.
My cock twitches with interest, but something else inside of me flinches and sours.
I frown and shake my head, then pick up my beer to take a sip.
“Not your type?” Slater guesses, craning his neck to get a better look at her himself.
“No, she definitely is.” I sigh. I don’t want to have some kind of awkward therapy session with a couple of strangers, but fuck it, that’s what bars are for, right?
“As desperate as my dick is for some action after months of being benched, I’m just not sure I can hook up with any woman right now without seeing my ex, you know? ”
AJ makes a sympathetic sound and nods.
“There’s always guys, right? That would probably solve the problem of getting laid without reminding you of her,” Slater says.
My pulse spikes unexpectedly and I sputter a laugh. “What?”
AJ snorts and gives Slater a playful smack on the arm. “Some people are straight, bro.”
“Oh shit, I forgot.”
Both my eyebrows jump up, and I choke on another bout of laughter.
“I’m sorry, what?” I’m tempted to look around for hidden cameras or some shit.
“In my defense, we don’t really hang out with any straight people anymore, and it’s a lot easier to forget than you’d think.”
“I…” I shake my head. I’m really not sure how to respond to that.
I look at the two of them again, putting the pieces together faster than I managed to when I ran into Callan at Sweat at least. They’re not straight? But they’re so…
AJ puts his hand casually on Slater’s thigh, his pinky finger brushing along the edge of Slater’s shorts.
My pulse spikes again and a rush of heat courses through me.
Not just not straight, but together apparently?
My brain takes the opportunity to conjure the image of Slater pressing his face into AJ’s hairy cleavage, and my skin burns even hotter.
I pick up my drink and take a few gulps, trying to cool myself down and get my thoughts in order.
“Well, for the record, getting a blowjob from a guy doesn’t make you gay.” There’s an air of teasing in Slater’s voice, and he says it more to AJ than to me, but it really doesn’t help me get my mind out of the gutter.
Does he mean that? Do straight guys really do that? I guess if your eyes are closed, a mouth is a mouth, right? Seems kind of rude to the person doing all that work though, to close your eyes and pretend they’re someone else.
“Hey.” Callan’s voice startles me. “I see you guys met Fergie.”
“Aw, you got a Butch Nickname?” Slater says. I swivel in my seat to look between Callan and the two of them.
They know each other? I know I met Butch at Sweat this week, so they must either work out there or train there too.
Callan scowls slightly. “He’s mine—” He clears his throat. “I mean, the nickname is mine. Butch didn’t give it to him.”
They both give Callan a curious look.
“Uh, here, I got you a drink.” I nudge the untouched glass towards him.
“Thanks, man. What’d I miss?” He takes the empty seat on my other side and picks up his drink.
“The usual,” AJ says blandly.
That was the usual? Shit, and I thought the guys I hang with were wild.
CALLAN
The rest of the guys slowly show up, and we take over the bar little by little. We tip well, at least, and there’s no baseball game on for me to piss off the bartender with, so I don’t think he minds.
“Holy shit, that’s where you strap on a harness and pull a truck, shit like that, right?
” Diego leans in so he can talk to Silas, who’s sitting on my other side, bringing his body unintentionally close to mine.
I can smell the sweet musk that must be his deodorant or cologne, and I can see little droplets of sweat on his skin that the air conditioning in the bar can’t quite keep up with.
Silas chuckles and sips his drink. “That’s one of the strongman challenges, yeah.”
Diego lets out an impressed whistle.
Big deal. I could bulk up and pull a truck if I wanted to.
“Hey.” I nudge Diego to get his attention and nod towards the pinball machines on the far end of the bar near the bathrooms. “It’s not exactly an arcade, but what do you say?”
“I haven’t played pinball since I was a kid.” He’s already sliding off his stool as he says it, gulping down the last of the beer in his glass and then setting it loudly back on the bar top. “Let’s do it.” He rubs his hands together enthusiastically. “Should we make it interesting?”
Now he’s talking my language.
“The answer to that is always yes, man. I should warn you, I’m a little bit competitive.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” The sarcasm dripping from his tone makes me chuckle.
“Am I that obvious?”
“Just a little. That’s okay though, I’m a little bit competitive too.” He winks, and a jolt of adrenaline rushes through me.
“Alright, what are the stakes?” I fish out my wallet so I can feed some cash into the change machine.
The pinball machine is old school, requiring quarters to play. It must have cost a fortune, actually, assuming it really is the vintage ET theme and not just a replica.
“Lowest score pays the tab?”
“Nah, we did that last time.” I wave off the suggestion. “How about lowest score has to cook the winner dinner sometime this week? I’m tired of cooking; I’d love a catered meal.” I waggle my eyebrows at him.
“Alright. I hope you like all the unseasoned, high-protein shit my nutritionist has me eating though.”
“Story of my life, bro.” I chuckle and nudge him out of the way so I can put my quarters into the slot and start the game.
I haven’t played in ages either, but it’s like riding a bike.
The muscle memory lives somewhere in the back of my unconscious mind, easily activated as soon as I pull the lever to launch the ball.
I get off to a good start, hitting the bonuses and lighting up the scoreboard as the little metal ball zooms around inside, bouncing off the flaps I trigger with the rapid press of my fingers.
“A lot of people think this game doesn’t take much skill, but it’s all about reflexes,” I crow, using my hips to nudge the machine just a bit before hitting the button to launch the ball right back into another frenzy.
“And strong fingers,” Diego quips, holding up his hand right in my peripheral vision and wiggling two fingers suggestively. “Can’t say I’ve ever had any complaints there.”
My balls tingle and my gut heats at the thought of Diego’s thick fingers sliding inside me. I grit my teeth and stay focused though. I don’t know if he’s trying to distract me on purpose, but I’m not about to lose that easily.
“Excuse me. I’m never this forward, but…”
I frown and take my eyes off of the game to see who’s talking.
It’s some gorgeous blonde with too much tits and not enough shirt, batting her eyelashes at Diego.
“Hey, yeah, I noticed you earlier,” he says, everything in his body language shifting from laid-back to alert, his chest puffing up and his shoulders squaring.
The game makes a tragic sound that lets me know the round is over, but I barely notice it as Barbie hands Diego a napkin with a phone number written on it.
“My friends are antsy to get out of here, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t take a chance. That’s my number, you can call or text me if you want.” She offers one more flirty smile before she leaves.
Diego watches her go, then shoves the napkin into his back pocket.
“She was hot.” That’s what a bro would say to encourage his friend, right?
It doesn’t sound bitchy or accusatory or anything, does it?
I’m sure a guy like Diego can hardly leave his apartment without drowning in tits and ass.
And after what his ex did to him, he deserves some fun.
I’m not jealous of some woman hitting on him. Why would I be?
“Aren’t you gay?” he asks with a laugh.
“No shit, Sherlock. That doesn’t mean I don’t know what a hot chick looks like. You can’t tell when a guy is hot, even if you don’t want to bang him?”
All the muscles in his face twitch comically like he’s a computer glitching the fuck out.
“I mean, sure, I guess? Not, like, hot, but I can tell if a guy looks good or whatever.”
“Relax, it doesn’t make you gay,” I assure him as I fish another few quarters out of my pocket. “Let me get a do-over.”
“Oh, hell no.” He shoves me playfully, but I root myself to the spot.
“She distracted me,” I argue, wrestling to try to put my quarters into the slot while he grabs my arm and presses his whole body up against mine to stop me from scamming another turn.
“Too bad, so sad. Head in the game next time.”
The firmness of his muscles and the heat of his skin against my body is enough to make my cock think something a hell of a lot more interesting is about to happen.
It starts to stiffen, and I take a huge step back so Diego won’t feel it chub against his thick, muscular thigh.
I’m pretty sure that would be the quickest way possible to make a straight dude rethink a friendship.
He hoots with his victory and shoves his coins into the slot to take his turn.
I don’t know if he was sharking me when he said he hadn’t played in ages or if his muscle memory is just as good, or maybe better, than mine.
Either way, he fucking dominates. In my defense, Barbie really did distract me.
“So when are you going to come by and make me dinner?” He grins and slings an arm around my shoulders as we make our way back over to the bar.
“How’s Wednesday sound?”
“Works for me,” he agrees easily, dropping his arm and sliding back onto his stool.
I’m already thinking about some options I could cook that should fit into whatever strict plan his nutritionist likely gave him.
He said he needed bro time, and it’s not exactly a hardship to hang with him.
At least there won’t be any women at his apartment handing out their phone numbers. I hope not, anyway.
“You going to text her?” I keep my tone as neutral as possible.
“Who?” he asks, cocking his head curiously.
I pick up my previously abandoned drink and hide my grin behind the glass as I finish it. I shake my head and wave him off. If he’s already forgotten about her, I’m not about to remind him.