Chapter 6 #2
“Sit-ups. Let’s go.” Travis barely gave him a moment to rest.
Cole groaned but pulled himself off the wall anyway. It’s not because Travis told me to. Just… because. Because of Travis’s tone, and the way he expected Cole to quit.
And Cole hated being underestimated.
Hated the idea that Travis might see him as someone who didn’t follow through.
So he huffed out a breath, dropped onto his back, and started moving.
“Fine,” he muttered, flopping onto his back. “But if you laugh at me, I swear to god, I’m hacking your credit score.”
“Noted.”
Travis dropped down, pinning Cole’s feet under his thighs, locking him in place with his effortless casual authority.
It was barely anything, just solid weight and steady pressure, but Cole felt it.
Travis’s hot body through the fabric of his sweatpants, the way his presence made the space feel smaller.
The hot press of Travis’s perfectly muscular ass that he wanted to smush his face into until he couldn’t breathe.
Get a grip!
This is not normal. This is not okay.
Cole gasped and did his first sit-up. Then his second. Then his third.
“Not bad,” Travis murmured. It was barely more than an offhand remark, but Cole’s stomach tightened—not from exertion.
“I don’t understand your work, and I sure as hell couldn’t do it…” Travis continued, then hesitated as if he wasn’t sure what he was saying.
Cole pushed harder, moving faster until his core burned and his breath came short, but still, he didn’t stop.
“I see you putting in the hours on your laptop, Steele,” Travis said, suddenly finishing his sentence.
“Sounds…” Cole gasped. “Almost…like…a…complim…”
Travis made a low sound in his throat, that might have even been approval.
“You complain like you hate this,” Travis said, “but you hate losing even more, don’t you?”
Cole barely paused, gritting his teeth as he pulled himself into another rep. “Hate to…break it…to you, Captain… arrrrgh… but I don’t lose.”
Travis laughed quietly, he almost sounded impressed. “That,” he said, “I respect.”
The words struck like a quick, warm spark in Cole’s chest. He didn’t need validation—especially not from this chiseled meat sack—but hearing approval from stoic, impossible-to-please Travis was annoyingly good. Too good.
Cole’s breath stuttered, his body hesitating at the last second.
His core strained, but his muscles weren’t working right, not when his brain had short-circuited at the proximity, at the warmth of Travis so damn close and full of compliments.
His momentum wavered, and instead of sitting up smoothly, he faltered.
He dropped back onto the floor with an ungraceful thump, blinking at the ceiling. For a second, he considered staying there, letting himself recover. Not from exertion, but from whatever the hell that was.
But Travis still pinning his feet in place kept him tethered, kept him aware. The solid press of muscle, the warmth radiating through the fabric of Travis’s sweats—Cole felt it, felt him, and a slow electric burn tingled restlessly and recklessly through his veins.
Not happening. He wasn’t going to get stuck like this, trapped under Travis’s steady, unreadable expression.
With a frustrated groan, he threw himself into another sit-up—too forceful, too fast—
And went right into Travis’s space.
Their faces nearly collided, stopping a breath apart.
Instinctively, Cole’s hands shot out—grasping onto Travis’s solid shoulders instead of bracing against the floor. His body hovered awkwardly between rising and falling, the only anchor being the firm grip he now had on Travis.
Too close.
The air between them thickened. Travis’s breath ghosted over his lips, warm and steady, he could see the subtle shift in his throat as he swallowed, the flicker of something unreadable in those impossibly steady blue eyes.
Travis didn’t pull back. Didn’t shift. Didn’t move.
Cole’s heart slammed against his ribs, every nerve in his body buzzing, waiting for—what? For Travis to react? For himself to react?
But neither of them did.
Seconds stretched long, heavy, charged with a forbidden longing that Cole hated for its impossibility.
Then, without thinking, without meaning to, his gaze dipped to Travis’s mouth.
Fuck.
Cole’s body trembled, his breath thinning, Travis’s seductive big manly lips weren’t the worst of it. No—the worst of it was the way his body reacted. The way the sharp heat in his gut coiled lower, like electric tingling beneath his skin, like a trap he hadn’t seen coming.
Oh, hell no.
Panic hit fast and sharp.
His stomach clenched, his breath stuttered, and suddenly, every second that Travis wasn't moving, wasn't pulling away, was like a fuse burning too close to danger.
Because if Travis realized that Cole’s cock was slowly pumping full of blood and would soon be standing to attention, then Cole wouldn’t survive that humiliation.
He wouldn’t survive being the loser gay boy pining after an unobtainable straight guy.
Not again.
With a sharp inhale, he abruptly let go and dropped back, breaking the moment so fast it almost felt like a retreat. His head hit the floor harder than necessary, but he welcomed the sting—anything to snap himself out of whatever the hell that had been.
That was enough to jolt him back to reality.
“Jesus,” he muttered, letting his hands fall to his sides. “I need a drink.”
Travis still hadn’t moved, still hadn’t spoken.
Then, finally, his voice lower, rougher—he finally murmured, “You really don’t know when to slow down, do you?”
Cole forced out a breathless chuckle, despite how sore his muscles were feeling. “Yeah, well. Quitting’s never been my thing.”
Travis let out a quiet laugh, seeming almost amused, almost impressed.
And Cole?
Cole told himself that the heat in his stomach was just from the damn workout.
“You lasted longer than I expected,” Travis admitted.
Cole cracked an eye open. “Was that… a compliment?”
Travis shrugged. “Take it however you want.”
Cole stared at him for a beat, his stomach curled, getting even hotter.
Take it however you want.
The words didn’t sound loaded. Didn’t feel like they meant anything.
And yet, somehow, they hit Cole hard, and from the look in Travis’s eyes—maybe they hit him too.
His jaw slacked open. His pulse got way too quick.
This was stupid.
This was just a workout.
But as Travis stood up, stretching out his arms, every muscle flexing in the morning light, Cole promised himself that he would not let another straight dude break his heart.