Gym Boys Read Free Page B

the locker room from the direction of the showers. The clean smell of a man’s shampoo and soap, the latter likely green—a brand named in honor of Ireland—teased Nick’s next breath. The man stowed his shower gear in one of the lockers.
    â€œHey, Cody,” Nick’s tour guide said.
    The dude shuffled around on a pair of slides, and Nick silently drank in as much of the man’s magnificence as possible. Nick’s age if he had to guess, clearly an athlete—Nick had no trouble dressing him in a baseball uniform or a hoops jersey and shorts, short blond hair in a clean cut, eyes beyond simply blue. Sapphires , thought Nick.
    â€œâ€˜Sup,” the gym god said, a man of few words.
    â€œCody McClain, this is Nick, our newest member.”
    Cody’s sapphire gemstone eyes drilled into Nick’s. “Hey.”
    Nick boldly offered his hand. Cody hesitated. His eyes scanned Nick’s outstretched fingers before committing, then accepted the gesture. Pressure clamped down on Nick’s hand. With little effort, he imagined the other young man snapping his bones. From the periphery, he recorded the line of fur cutting Cody McClain down the middle of his abdomen and circling around his navel, hairy legs and big jock feet. Heavenly distraction.
    The shake ended, and Cody turned back to his locker.
    â€œIf you come this way, I’ll show you the rest,” Nick’s guide said.
    Nick followed, but tipped a glance behind him in time to see Cody unhook the towel. The towel dropped and puddled around those big feet, exposing the most perfect ass Cody had ever seen—firm, high, the kind of definition that transforms ass muscles from roundness to a squarer geometry. A thin Mohawk of dark blond fur dissected the two halves down the middle. The gym god reached into his locker for something, and the perfect halves parted enough for Nick to steal a glance at the meaty balls dangling beneath, visible one instant, gone the next.
    Cody , Nick thought. Then he choked down a swallow and discovered his mouth had gone completely dry, his throat baked to desert like on that long-ago day when he was forced to climb the rope.
    He pushed himself, harder and faster, on the treadmill and the stationary bike. The weight machines and aerobic classes tested him at first but grew easier and more enjoyable as the month progressed. The aches of those first weeks subsided; muscle began to emerge. With it came a boldness beaten out of him in the gyms of his past, where the ropes mocked him.
    Sweat coated Nick’s flesh. He peeled off his shirt, unlaced his sneakers, and removed socks and then workout shorts. The last stitch—his nut-soaked jockstrap, black—came off his body reluctantly. Nick glanced around the men’s locker room once more to be sure he was alone before raising the damp cotton to his nose. The rich odor of a man’s scent filled his next deep breath.
    â€œCody…fuck,” Nick whispered.
    In his imagination, the stink belonged to the other young man. The sound of the big door whooshing open and a scuffle of footsteps on the tiled floor alerted Nick to the presence of approaching eyes. He stuffed the jock into the locker with the rest of his workout gear and wrapped a towel around his waist.
    A guilty glance to his right, and Cody McClain jumped out of Nick’s mind and into real time.
    â€œDude,” Cody said.
    A shiver tripped down Nick’s spine, one curiously hotter than chilly. “Hey, man.”
    That was it, their exchange a paltry handful of words. From the cut of his eye, Nick watched Cody fiddle with his phone and then strip down from T-shirt and jeans, all the while pretending to be busy with the things inside his open locker. Cody’s shirt came off, baring spine. Belt unbuckled, zipper unzipped, Cody’s jeans fell to his ankles, showing the gray boxer-briefs spray-painted over that incredible ass, which Nick had fantasized over