Chapter 4 Christopher #2
He heads over to the rack to retrieve the weights, and I find myself being convinced to do something I’d usually never dream of doing. I attempt to make myself comfortable on the bench, adjusting my shoulders as Alexander stands over me, holding the weights in position above my chest.
“Here. Let me just adjust your hands.” He twists my wrists forty-five degrees as he passes me each dumbbell.
As I look up, I can almost make out his cock through his shorts.
His abs look like a stairway to heaven, toward lips that could whisper sweet nothings into my ear.
“How does that feel?” he asks, letting go and stepping back slightly.
“Feels great.”
I lower the dumbbells toward my chest and attempt to push them back up, trying to keep my attention focused on the ceiling rather than his abs. But the encouraging words I get from Alexander prompt a stirring in my shorts.
Oh no. Not now.
Of all the times I could get an awkward boner, this one is far from ideal.
“That’s it. You’ve got this,” he says in that sweet voice of his.
Each reassurance makes my cock harden.
“For someone that doesn’t like to bench press, it seems like you rather enjoyed that,” he says, his gaze drifting from my face to my crotch. My cock is now hard as a rock. Unfortunately, thanks to my boxer briefs, it looks more like the Leaning Tower of Pisa than the Eiffel Tower.
I want the ground to swallow me up. I’d hoped he hadn’t noticed, but his line of vision meant it was impossible to not see.
“Well, we can’t have you being the only one whose bulge is exposed to the world,” I say in a lame attempt to deflect attention away from my growing problem. My reply gives me enough time to quickly get up from the bench and readjust my package.
I turn to face him, trying to think of something else to give my raging hard-on a chance to subside. But as I catch sight of his ripped torso again, I know I’m powerless and will just have to ride this one out.
“You saw that.” He says it more as a statement than a question.
Damn. So much for playing it cool.
“No. Only what that woman in the elevator was going on about last night. Some big reveal.” I’m unable to keep my eyes from drifting down to his shorts.
The bulge that I looked at from every conceivable angle overnight is now within touching distance. I can’t help but wonder even more what it would feel like to get my hands and mouth all over it.
The sound of the gym door opening snaps me back to reality. Rob reappears, brandishing a new black top.
“Here you go, boss.” Rob flings it at him, and Alexander grabs it in one quick sweep.
“Cheers!” He sounds slightly uncomfortable as he slides the top on.
Goodbye abs.
“The team are all in the room. They’re ready when you are,” Rob says. My heart sinks as this brief moment is stolen from us.
I lower my head, but as I look down, I notice a twinge in Alexander’s shorts.
No. It can’t be.
Did he get aroused too?
I try to shrug it off, but maybe, just maybe, this jock-looking pop star—who seems to be the object of every young girl’s fantasy—actually dreams of men instead of women.
“I’m nearly done, just a few more reps, then I’ll head up, in say five?” His gaze drifts toward his watch and then back to Rob, before turning to me.
“You good to stick around a few more minutes to offer a helping hand?”
My mouth nearly falls open at the way he says helping hand.
It’s all I can do to stop myself from saying, I can offer more than a helping hand.
I nod into the awkward silence instead.
“Sure,” Rob says, and he moves toward the door, but turns just before he exits. “Want me to order any breakfast to the room?”
“I’m good, but if you’re doing another coffee run, I’ll get the usual, please.”
The usual? What is his usual?
I’m sure the women waiting outside the hotel would know every little detail about him.
But before last night, I’d never even heard of Alexander.
The only thing I do know right now is that he’s an American singer who had a wardrobe malfunction on stage.
Oh, and that he could just be the most attractive guy I’ve ever met.
Alexander snaps me out of my thoughts.
“So, what brings you to town? I realize I don’t even know your name.”
“Christopher,” I say.
“Alex,” he responds, offering me his hand to shake formally.
Does he go by Alexander publicly and prefers Alex in private?
His shake, a vice-like grip, sends my mind places that I really need it not to go right now.
“I’m here for my sister’s wedding next weekend, so I’m here for all the prewedding shit.” I walk back toward the bench press.
“Not a fan of weddings, I take it?”
“Nope. Especially not the family drama that comes with it.” I swallow down a lump in my throat, trying to push away the thoughts about why I’m staying here at the hotel and not at my parents’ home and why my father won’t be attending.
“Families can be the worst.”
I briefly catch the pain in his eyes, but I know not to dig too deeply when it comes to family. Alexander slides back on the bench, grabbing the dumbbells to begin the next repetition. The power dynamic changes once more with me towering over him.
“So, why are you here?” I try, tentatively.
“Oh, I’m in town till next Sunday doing a run of shows at the O2,” he says. His muscles flex with each thrust, matching the quiet casualness with which he said he’s performing at one of the biggest and most prestigious arenas in the world.
Wait.
He’s also here for the next ten days? I might get to spend more time with him. My pulse quickens at the thought.
I let out a deep exhale to try and temper my excitement.
“You get much downtime while you’re here?”
“Nah, the team’s got me working like a dog. I think I might have one day off next Thursday if I’m lucky. When I’m not performing on stage, they’ve got me doing promo, photoshoots, or recording.” His body slumps as if his spirit has left it as he gets back up off the bench.
With a schedule like that, no wonder he looks a little worn down. That probably explains the reason he was sick earlier too.
“Right, I better get back upstairs. Thanks for spotting me this morning. Appreciate it.” He goes to shake my hand, but then pulls me in for a hug instead, nodding at Rob through the glass window.
“No problem,” I reply. “I should probably head up shortly too, but I think I’ll hit the steam room first.”
“They have a steam room?” His voice lifts along with his eyebrows.
“Apparently? It’s in the changing room.” I pause and wonder whether to hedge my bets. “Might be worth you jumping in to sweat out the remainder of the bug that made you sick this morning,” I say, walking past him and out the door.
I dare not look back over my shoulder, but I feel his looming presence as I hear two sets of feet follow me. I open the door to the changing room, but my hope quickly turns to disappointment when I see the steam room. It’s barely big enough to swing a cat in.
“Looks like there’s not enough room to fit both of us in there,” he says, leaning against one of the wooden lockers.
I shed my sneakers and remove my socks, shorts, and top by the padded seats in the center of the room, then grab a towel from the rack on the wall and open the door to the steam room. There’s a feistiness in him that I just can’t help but play along with.
As the steam flows out, I shimmy out of my underwear and hang it up on a hook along with the towel.
“There’s just about enough room, if you want to come in,” I say, winking.