Chapter 2 #2
For such a massive boulder of a man, dude is surprisingly light on his feet.
None of us are small guys, but Silas’s love of strongman competitions and his natural blocky build makes him stand out, even here.
It doesn’t hurt that his typical wardrobe consists of t-shirts with cartoons on them that fit too tightly over his huge chest. Although today he’s wearing a shirt Fender got him for Christmas as a joke that says All Tits, No Brains and rides up to show off his slightly rounded belly.
The sound of traffic outside momentarily joins the usual white noise of clanging weights and whirring machines.
I stop trying to climb over the desk to grab the clipboard and glance over my shoulder, hoping for a new client I can sign up and add to my tally.
I don’t even give a shit about whatever incentive Andre came up with for the winner of the competition.
Glory and bragging rights are enough for me.
For just a second I’m sure all the time I’ve spent scrolling every bit of Diego Ferguson news has finally caught up with me and caused some kind of hallucination or mental break. I mean, what are the odds that he’s standing right there, under the fluorescent lights of Sweat, dressed for a workout?
I blink a few times and he’s still there, so I guess the odds are better than I thought. A slow smirk spreads across my face, and I grab Butch’s shoulder just as he starts to move to greet our potential new gym member.
“I’ve got this one.”
“Fine. I’ve got a client in ten minutes anyway.” He shrugs and walks away, and my playful spat with Silas fades into the back of my mind as I make my way over to Diego.
The Brewers ended up giving up a couple of bases by the end of the game the other day, so I never did tell Diego that I’m a personal trainer and that’s how I clocked the shoulder injury.
He had no way of knowing I worked here, so I guess it’s just my lucky day.
Although, I’m particularly surprised to see him at Sweat considering we’re in Boystown and all signs pointed to him being straight.
Not that straight guys can’t workout here.
Obviously, we don’t discriminate. It’s just that they usually don’t.
As I get closer to him, I notice his gaze roaming around the gym, taking in the progressive Pride flags not only hanging in the window but painted as a mural on one wall, lingering for a second on the couple over by the free weights who trade kisses between sets, and finally settling on me with a wide-eyed expression.
Ah, he didn’t know. That makes sense.
“Callan?” His eyebrows pull together and he looks around again like he’s expecting, or maybe hoping, that all the gay shit he noticed just a minute ago will be gone, replaced by a totally straight place for him to spend the afternoon grunting, sweating, and complimenting other dudes on their physiques.
“Diego, hey. You lost?” I joke lightly, using the same words he teased me with when he sat down next to me at the bar.
“Uh, kinda seems that way.” He lets out an awkward laugh. Some kind of understanding solidifies behind his eyes and he shakes his head. “Fucking funny,” he mutters.
“What is?”
“I need to get back into shape before the season starts. I play for the Huskies…”
“I know.” I grin and wait for him to go on.
Maybe I was right the first time about humility not being his natural state, because as soon as I say I know who he is, his chest puffs up just a little and he stands a little taller.
Even some of the tension around his eyes eases, replaced with an air of confidence that heats my body up a few degrees.
“Anyway, one of my teammates suggested I check this place out. And now that I’m here, it’s obvious it was some kind of stupid joke.”
I don’t think he means anything by it, but my hackles go up anyway and I narrow my eyes just a little.
“What’s the joke?”
“Oh, uh…” Diego rubs the back of his neck. “It’s just that I’m straight and this is obviously…” He waves in the direction of the guys kissing.
“Gay.” I supply the word for him, and his cheeks turn pink.
“Right, so, I’ll just…” He points his thumb over his shoulder towards the door he just came in through.
“Why?”
His brow furrows again like he doesn’t understand the question.
“I just said…”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “I promise, the gay orgies are optional.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m here. I have a fully equipped home gym and the team has a trainer I can work with, I think I just needed to get out of my apartment today and I ended up here.”
“I’m sure the team trainer is more than qualified. He’ll make sure you do all the right exercises to build up the right muscles to stabilize your labrum, get your stamina back, and make sure your range of motion is where you need it to be so you won’t re-injure yourself.”
“It sounds like you really know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m a professional, Fergie. But I wouldn’t want you to catch any of the gay cooties here.” I make a shooing motion towards the door, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he frowns and seems to root himself more firmly in his spot.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it, then?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Just that I didn’t want to be somewhere I don’t belong.
But…” He looks around for a third time, then back at me.
“Fuck it, you really seem like you know your shit and you were cool to hang out with the other day.” He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and sighs. “I need to be ready for the season.”
I nod in understanding. “I can get you there.”
Relief and determination flood his expression, and he blows out another breath. “Okay, so how does this work? Do I need to sign up for a gym membership and everything?”
“Come on.” I jerk my head towards the desk with a grin.
Another membership on my tally and I get to spend the next three months whipping Diego Ferguson’s ass back into shape? Apparently, it’s my lucky day.