Chapter Five
Marcello
"So is this what you call a gym high?” I ask as I re-rack the bar above my head.
I mean, the fact I just know to call it re-racking makes me a little giddy but truly, I am feeling a real rush of endorphins right now as I sit up after that drop set of chest presses.
And yes, I do know what a drop set is, another thing that makes me feel irrationally good.
“Heart pumping a bit faster? Head feeling light and clear? Your skin feeling just a little bit too tight for your body, like you've literally just grown your muscle?” Giles moves to stand beside me with his hands on his hips.
“Pretty much.” I nod.
“Yep, that's a gym high.”
“That's a good sign, right?”
“It's a great sign,” Giles says and I'm pretty sure I hear pride in his voice. “And tomorrow we'll make sure you experience a runner's high too.”
“Fuck, I forgot about that. We're running tomorrow.”
“Yes, we are.”
I wish I could share Giles' enthusiasm but I haven't run further than the distance between my mother's house and the Tube in over a decade. Tomorrow's planned six-kilometre run around Hyde Park could put me in the hospital.
“You look worried,” one of Giles' large hands claps me on the back, “but you needn't be. We will go at your pace.”
“You actually run?” I ask still a little disbelieving that a man with Giles' stocky and solid physique can haul it around at a decent pace.
“Nine kilometres every Saturday,” he says and he nods towards the leg press. “Speaking of which let's do some light leg work before tomorrow.”
“Nine? Why not ten?" I ask as I follow him.
He waves a hand around his face as if to dismiss the question. “Ten’s too much. Eight is not enough," he mumbles. “Right, sit yourself down.”
Unlike I did a week ago at my first gym session, I attack my first twelve reps with enthusiasm.
This is the third time we've met to work out together this week so I'm now starting to understand how the machines work and I've started to notice my body adapting to more reps, heavier weights, longer sets.
My muscles still burn and my body aches more than I would like but it's a good kind of pain.
It's a hot and sharp tension that suggests something's going on, something's happening, something's changing.
Which is exactly what I wanted.
Giles nods with encouragement and as I begin my second set of twelve leg extensions, I start to wonder what's in it for him.
Every time we come to the gym, we focus on my routine, my exercises and my goals.
It probably shouldn't have taken me this long to think it, but shouldn't Giles also be doing his workouts?
Shouldn't he be dragging a tank across the gym floor and dead lifting twice his body weight?
“Is this not deadly boring for you?”
Giles frowns at me. “What do you mean?”
“You're just helping me. You're not actually training yourself.”
“Oh, it's fine. I came already first thing this morning, and I’m here on the days we don't train.”
“Wow, you're really... committed. But, I mean, it makes sense. It's why you look like... that.”
Giles blushes and looks away to the other side of the room. This isn't the first time he's become awkward when I've brought up his physique so I change the subject as I start my third set, my legs feeling a lot warmer now.
“So that Tony fella hasn't bothered you again since he saw us training together?”
“No, he hasn't,” Giles says but his eyes haven't returned to me.
“Is that a problem?”
That drags his eyes to mine.
“Why would you say that?”
“You don't seem pleased, or relieved,” I offer through gritted teeth as I push through the reps.
I watch as Giles' shoulders sink. “It's not that... I just... No, it doesn't matter.” Giles shakes his head.
“Try me,” I say as I come to do my last two reps. “I can actually be a very good listener, especially when I need to stay sitting in place because I'm pretty sure my legs are going to shake like jelly if I were to stand up right now.”
I'm pleased that this pulls a smile from Giles.
He steps closer and leans against the back of the machine.
“I'm just a bit of a disaster at relationships.
And I thought rejecting Tony's advances would help me stay focused on waiting to meet the right person. But now I just feel like I kind of rejected myself, if that makes sense.”
“I get it. His advances were good for your ego.”
“Yeah, and I sometimes think that maybe that's all I should expect from life, you know. That maybe I'm an idiot for wanting... more.”
“More?”
“Yeah, like, you know, love.”
I stare at Giles without blinking, unsure why this surprises me so much. It's not because I think it's a ridiculous thing to want. I just didn't expect a man who looks like Giles to want this.
“And you don't think you'd find love with Tony?” I offer when I realise I've not spoken in a while.
“I highly doubt it,” Giles scoffs.
“Why? He seemed like a nice guy. Great calves.”
Giles laughs. “You noticed that? Are you sure you're not queer?”
I smile with him. “Straight as a lamp post over here. But seriously. Maybe it could happen with Tony.”
“I am almost certain it won’t.” Giles' grin fades. “He's too similar to the hundred other guys I’ve been with that all ended up going nowhere fast.”
“Hundred other guys? Didn’t have you down for a player.” I wink at him, which seems to take him momentarily by surprise but then that frown is back.
“Let’s just say I’ve not had much luck with men,” he explains.
“So why not give it a try with a woman? You said you're pansexual so that means you like women too, right?"
“It means I'm attracted to people, not genders,” he explains kindly before wincing. “But generally speaking, I have even worse luck with women, although it has been a long time since I tried.”
My eyes widen. “You have bad luck with women? What hope does a blob like me have then?”
“You are not a blob, Marcello.”
I find myself still smiling and it's not because of what he's said. It's because I like the way he says my name. Firm and yet gentle with the soft “ch” of an Italian c. I like that he's always said my name the right way.
“And the reason I don't date women is nothing to do with my physique. It's because I find women don't really like dating me.”
“Again, why?”
“Because I'm pan, and I've mostly dated men.”
I blink. “You are joking, aren't you?”
Giles shakes his head and indeed looks very serious. “Nope.”
“I don't get it. Why would it make a difference? If I found out a girl I was interested in was bi or pan or whatever, I'd fucking—”
“You'd fucking love it, I know,” Giles finishes for me. “But maybe not for the right reasons.”
“What do you mean?”
Giles inhales deeply before speaking. “Pan or bi women are fetishised while pan or bi men are stigmatised. Straight guys want a queer woman because they just think 'threesomes', and straight girls don’t want to go near queer men because they’re worried they’ll get cheated on or dumped. Or worse.”
“Worse?”
“There’s this stupid stigma that’s stuck around since the 1980s and 1990s, from the AIDS epidemic. That we’re going to contaminate them. That we’re more likely to give them an STI.”
“That’s fucking toxic,” I shake my head. “What about a bisexual or pansexual woman? Maybe that could work?”
“Maybe it could,” Giles admits with a small shrug. "But I'm not about to start screening prospective dates based on their sexuality. That would make me as bad as the women who have dumped me for being queer."
“They really dumped you?”
“Many times," Giles confirms with a sad smile.
“I just don't get it—”
“I know, I know. Because I'm built like a tank. But muscles don't make the man. You'll learn this when you're as jacked as me.” He winks at me and yet it doesn't seem remotely playful, more perfunctory.
“I'm not talking about your muscles, Giles. I'm talking about your personality, your character, the way you're a decent bloke. Any woman or man or fuck, gender non-conforming human would be lucky to fall in love with you.”
Giles' face goes completely blank and for a split second I think I've said too much or put my foot in it some other way, but then composure quickly returns and he's smiling again, without a single bounce of his moustache, however.
“Maybe I'll talk to Tony the next time I see him,” he says but I don't exactly hear enthusiasm in his voice.
“Good,” I say and slap my hands on my knees. But I don't feel good. I feel... weird. There's a slow churning in my stomach and I feel a little light-headed. I reach for my water bottle.
“Right, how about the most embarrassing machine in the room?” Giles asks and he does look a bit more animated again.
“Not that leg opener?” I groan.
“The hip abduction machine, you mean.” Giles taps the back of his hand against the side of my thigh and then he's off crossing the gym floor.
Reluctantly, I stand and on wobbly legs, follow him.
“I swear no matter how I sit in this machine, it makes me look like I have a boner,” I grumble.
“Trust me, nobody is looking at your crotch,” Giles reassures me before turning and plonking down in the machine's seat. “Why don't I go first and show you how nobody gives a flying fuck what you look like doing this exercise?”
He drops the weight pin down, right down.
“You're just going to show off,” I point out.
“That too,” Giles says and I'm pleased when his moustache wriggles and there's a little more light in his green-blue eyes as he begins opening and closing his legs. I say green-blue because I can’t figure out which colour they are. It’s a mystery I sometimes feel determined to solve but then I remember that it’s rude to stare at somebody for no reason so I try to turn my attention elsewhere.
Luckily, my brain is good at doing that. Very good, in fact.
Right now, my attention is being grabbed by Giles’ legs. I watch his quads work, tendons and muscles moving under his skin. Smooth skin that catches the light and reminds me of…
“Giles,” I say slowly.
“Yeah,” he pants.
“Do you shave your legs?”
The machine clanks to a stop with Giles legs locked in place wide open. He looks down at his legs. “I got them lasered actually. Why?”
“Does that... does that help with training?” I've literally never thought about shaving or, shudder, waxing my legs.
Is it something I should think about? Maybe it's an optical illusion and that's why Giles legs look so powerful, so sculpted.
Like, does it make you run faster or lift heavier weights?
He clears his throat loudly before he replies. “No, I just like the way it looks. And how it feels.”
And now that's all I'm thinking about. How Giles’ legs feel, all silky smooth and a little slick with sweat like they are now.
Fuck. I clearly didn't eat enough before this workout. I'm losing it.
“You don't have to be hairless, if that's what you're thinking. Although," he pauses and resumes his reps, “I suppose it could help with the swimming.”
“Do you...” My mouth goes dry. Yes, definitely dehydrated. “Did you get laser everywhere?”
Giles' laughter is loud and hearty. “I'm not going to make you wax your scrotum, Marcello, don't worry!”
“That's... that's not what I was thinking...”
“Your face says it all. You look deathly worried.” Giles shakes his head as he continues to chuckle while still opening and closing his legs.
And I’m sorry but he is not proving me wrong; the way his shorts have all bunched up what limited material there is of them, it very much looks like he has a boner.
I blink my gaze away, feeling immediately guilty and just, weird, for looking there.
“Maybe it's not such a terrible idea,” I say. “I might even have more luck with the ladies if I did it.”
“You mean to tell me,” he grunts and winces through a rep, “that you have trouble with women?”
“I would love to have trouble with women! I would love to have anything with women!”
“But you don't?”
“I do not.”
“Why not?”
“I don't know, maybe this.” I poke my stomach as it protrudes slightly over the waistband of my shorts. “Or maybe the fact I still live with my mother at the grand old age of forty-two.”
“Marcello, there is nothing wrong with your body. I hope you're not here because you desperately want to change the way you look?”
“Is that so bad?”
“No, but trust me, if you don't love yourself now, you won't automatically start loving yourself when you're a few kilograms lighter and have more definition in your arms.”
“I suppose not,” I concede.
“As for living with your mother,” Giles presses his lips together in thought, “is that something you want to change? Is it for financial reasons, for example?”
“No, not at all. I live there because I like living there. I...” I pause, holding the truth back for just a few more seconds. “I tried living on my own before. I didn't like it.”
Giles nods. “I understand,” he says and I believe him, easily, which feels like a great relief. “And I'm sure many women will understand it too, if not all women. But that's okay. Consider it an easy way to weed out the ones who aren't worthy.”
“That's actually really solid advice.” I nod. “You should maybe take it for yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“You should be honest about what you want, you know, the love thing, with the men you meet, with Tony, and then if they don't want the same thing, that's your way of weeding out the ones who aren't worthy.”
“You make it sound so easy.” Giles has started another set but there’s still very limited struggle in his movements.
“Maybe it is.” I shrug. "Maybe we've both been over complicating things. Maybe you need to just talk to Tony, and I just need to try dating again.”
It feels like Giles' eye contact intensifies a little, his hot stare fixing on mine a littler sharper. Or maybe he's just starting to actually feel the burn of the exercises he's doing.
“Maybe,” he says.
“Why don't we both try?” I offer. “I'll download a dating app and you talk to Tony next time you see him. Maybe ask him out on a date where you can be honest with him.”
Giles winces. He must really be struggling now.
“Fine,” he says as he uses the lever to disconnect the weights. “I will if you will.”
“Deal.” I nod and hold up my clenched fist for him to bump. As he does I smile at him but his eyes have already dropped mine and he doesn't give me one back.