Chapter 3
TOBY
Ican’t believe I’m doing this.
My palms are clammy as I park my car at the back of the big lot.
I grip the steering wheel, knuckles white, staring out the windshield at the black building ahead.
With the moon hidden behind a wall of clouds, the only light comes from the yellow bulb above the door. It gives the place an eerie vibe.
I glance in the rearview mirror, and my reflection stares back at me. My dark hair is tousled and a little damp from the shower, and my green eyes are wide. I look more nervous than I hoped.
Why did I agree to this again? It was a snap decision, fueled by Micah’s boldness and my own curiosity. But now that I see the big black doors looming ahead, my courage starts to falter.
I’m not even gay.
Or at least, I don’t think so. I’ve always dated girls. I like the soft curves and flowery scents. I love to squeeze a nice, round ass and watch their pretty faces scrunch up when they come.
But I have to admit, sometimes I wonder what it would be like. With a dude.
I know that’s not something guys are supposed to say out loud, especially not on a football team. But I can’t help it. The thought pops into my head whenever I see a handsome face or a solid set of pecs.
There’s this weird double standard, right? Girls can openly say when another girl’s hot, no problem. But guys? We have to pretend we don’t notice when a dude looks good. Can’t admit when a pair of biceps is impressive or when a tight butt makes us do a double take.
Anyway, that’s not something I can share with guys like Cole or Diesel.
They’d laugh their asses off if they knew what I was thinking right now, and Omar would probably give me a concerned look.
They don’t seem to share the same fascination I do.
For them, this is just about that little competition Micah set up, nothing more.
But for me, this is an opportunity. To finally satisfy the nagging curiosity and get it out of my system.
I glance at the clock on the dashboard. Ten to nine. My teammates will be here soon.
Maybe I should head in now, get the lay of the land. Scope things out so I’ve got a slight edge when the others show up.
Before I can think twice, I grab my backpack from the passenger seat and step into the cool night air.
The lot is nearly empty, just a handful of cars and a couple of motorcycles scattered across the concrete. The big industrial buildings around it sit dark and deserted. There’s no real reason to be here at night except to visit the infamous bathhouse.
And that’s what I’m about to do.
A cold shiver runs up my spine as I make my way across the lot, gravel crunching under the soles of my sneakers. The tinted windows give nothing away. The place could be abandoned for all I know, with only a faint scent of chlorine in the air as proof that it’s not.
I pause in front of the door and take a deep breath.
You got this, Toby. You can handle whatever awaits you.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I shove the heavy door. The hinges shriek in protest, and a blast of warm air hits me square in the face. The smell of chlorine is even stronger now, stinging my nose.
A corridor stretches ahead, narrow and dark, with flickering neon lights leading the way. At the end, a middle-aged woman sits behind a large desk, filing her nails.
“What can I do for you, honey?” She peers at me over the rims of her thick-framed glasses, red lips curved in a friendly smile. Her strawberry-blonde hair is piled high on top of her head.
“Hi. I’d like to visit, please. The… uh… bathhouse.”
“You gay, pumpkin?”
The bluntness catches me off guard.
I rub the back of my neck. “No, ma’am.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She looks me up and down, then sets her nail file aside. “Sugar, this here’s a place for men who like men. You get that, right? Ain’t no ordinary spa. This is a safe space where boys come to play. You know what I mean?”
I can feel the tips of my ears turning red. “Uh, yeah, I get it.”
She leans back in her chair, her low-cut shirt offering a generous view of cleavage. “And you’re still interested in going inside? Not scared of seeing some manly, sweaty bodies in action, are ya?”
I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral.
She purses her lips and studies me in silence, eyes unblinking. For a second, I’m sure she’s about to kick me out. Then she grins, holds out her hand for my ID, and says, “That’ll be thirty-five bucks, then.”
A moment later, she slides a wristband across the desk.
“Here you go. This little band’ll get you through the door, and you can flash it at the bar if you get thirsty.”
“Thanks, ma’am.”
“Call me Meredith, sugar. Everyone here does.”
I take the band and slip it on, the plastic sticky against my skin.
“Now, we got some house rules. No phones or cameras. You put your stuff in the lockers before heading in. Second, like I said, this is a safe space. If you see a closed door, you knock. Consent is king, and no means no. Don’t matter how cute you are or how big your muscles are.
You touch someone who don’t wanna be touched, Meredith here will personally escort your ass to the curb. We clear?”
I gulp and nod. This woman doesn’t fuck around.
“Of course, since you’re straight and all, I doubt any of that’s gonna be a problem for you. Right, fruitcake?”
There are a hundred things I could say, but the words get stuck in my throat. I manage a half-hearted smile instead.
Meredith winks and waves a manicured hand in the direction of the doors.
“Well, then. Go on. Have fun, honey.”