Chapter 4
TOBY
The second set of doors is heavy metal. I have to put my shoulder into them to push them open. Seriously, bank vaults are easier to access than this place.
Once I make it through, the air changes. It’s warmer, more humid, with a strong scent of chlorine and eucalyptus. Music drifts from speakers in the ceiling, something chill and electronic, the volume low enough not to be intrusive.
Micah was right. The place is nice. Way nicer than the dingy exterior suggests.
The locker room is all warm wood and soft amber lighting, like some upscale hotel spa. The lockers are real wood cubbies, not the dented metal ones back at the stadium. I pick the first empty one and toss my backpack inside.
A few guys move around the space. One older man with salt-and-pepper chest hair adjusts his towel. Two younger guys near the showers talk quietly, their bodies glistening wet, their cocks dangling in plain view.
I grow a little self-conscious as I strip down. I’m used to changing in locker rooms, but this is different. Normally, no one pays attention, but here, everyone seems to be checking each other out. My skin prickles as I feel their eyes rake over me.
As soon as my boxers come off, I wrap the big fluffy towel Meredith gave me around my waist and shove my clothes into the locker. My hands are shaking, and it takes me three tries to get the door shut.
“First time?”
I jump and turn. A guy with a shaved head stands a few lockers down, arms crossed over his chest. He looks a bit older than me, maybe late twenties, with a sleeve of colorful tattoos running up his left arm. A heavy silver chain hangs across his broad chest, catching the amber light.
He looks tough. Intimidating. Not the kind of guy I’d want to run into in a dark alley.
“Something like that,” I manage.
“Something like that?” He arches a brow. “Either it’s your first time or it isn’t.”
“Yeah, okay. It’s my first time. But I’m not gay.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re kidding me. What are you doing here then?”
I think for a moment. No way I’m telling this guy we’ve got a stupid competition going with the football team to see who can last the longest. So I give him a safer answer instead.
“To relax. Use the sauna.”
The guy lets out a short laugh, teeth flashing white. “Heard that one before.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “It’s the truth. I really am here for the sauna. You’re not?”
“I’m not here for the sauna, no.”
An awkward pause stretches between us.
“But you don’t seem…” I trail off. This is coming out all wrong. “I mean, you don’t look…”
“Gay?” He tilts his head. “What’s gay supposed to look like?”
My face burns. “I don’t know, man. I just meant… you seem really…”
“Masculine?” He grins. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Newsflash: gay guys can be masculine too. I like hard cocks. I like fucking a hairy ass. Is that gay enough for you?”
Jesus, this guy is direct.
“Y-yeah, no, of course. Sorry.”
The guy laughs, closes his locker, and then holds out his hand.
“Name’s Hawk.”
“Toby. Nice to meet you, man.”
Hawk gives my hand a firm squeeze. “Likewise. And, uh…” He glances at the towel around my waist. “Nice abs you got there. Must work out a lot.”
“Yeah, I play college football. Running back.”
“That explains it.” He pauses, a glint in his eye. “Too bad you’re playing for the wrong team. I’d love to have a piece of that ass.”
My skin prickles. This guy is shameless.
Hawk chuckles. “Sorry. Too much? I forget not everybody’s used to hearing stuff like that. I can be a little intense, or so I’ve been told. But hell, why beat around the bush, right? That shit gets you nowhere.”
I don’t know what to say to that. The guy just told me he wants to fuck me, and the thing is, it doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would.
“I guess that’s… honest,” I manage.
“Honesty’s all I got, Toby.” He grins. “Don’t worry, though. I won’t bother you. If you came here for a quiet night, you can have it.”
He adjusts his towel. “Enjoy your stay. But hey, word of advice? Steer clear of the Red Zone if you’re really just here for the sauna. Unless you want more than a quiet night, of course. In that case, the Red Zone’s your best bet.”
“The Red Zone?”
“It’s on the far end. Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.”
With a wink, he turns and walks off, flip-flops slapping against the tile. That’s when I catch the enormous tattoo spanning his entire back—a bird, wings spread wide, talons out.
A hawk.