by Leigh Carman
Parkour is something I got into while I was still living with Austin. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. If he did, he would have put a stop to it immediately. Austin didn’t like me doing anything that didn’t involve him. Or more precisely, anything that didn’t revolve around him. I don’t practice as much as I’d like to, but the city isn’t exactly receptive to people scaling buildings, swinging on staircases, and leaping from roof to roof. That’s why I free run early in the morning, just as the sun’s coming up. There’s enough light to see what I’m doing, but most of the city’s inhabitants are still in their beds.
As I sit there, my thoughts drift to Van and our “date” tonight. After swapping numbers at the studio the other day, he texted as soon as he left, officially asking me out for tonight. I grin at the memory. Who would have thought the big guy would be a romantic?
After taking a few minutes to sort through everything in my head, I frown. Van is a guy who has his bar owner friend bring men to him in the back office of a gay club like he ordered them off a menu. Not as romantic as I thought when I put it in perspective. Tonight is probably only about sex, though I still wouldn’t say no if that were the case. My stomach clenches, and nausea burns at my throat when I remember that Van is big—bigger than Austin, even. Van is a guy who obviously takes what he wants, or has it delivered to him. What if he—
I can’t finish the thought before bile rises and my insides heave. Thankfully, I’m able to turn my head fast enough to keep from vomiting on myself as my stomach turns inside out and my light breakfast is expelled from my body. When I finish throwing up, my skin is cold and clammy and my heart feels like it might burst out of my chest. I’m suddenly winded, but not from exertion.
I can’t do this. What was I thinking?
I fumble in my pocket for my phone and tap out a text to Van.
Toby—can’t make it 2nite. Sorry
I turn my phone off and shove it in my pocket before a response can come in. Not that I expect one at six thirty in the morning, but I don’t want to see what Van has to say. Maybe it makes me a coward, or maybe it makes me smart. In my experience, men like Van are liars and bullies and stop at nothing to get what they want. It’s better to cut him loose now, before I’m in too deep to get out.
Despite the above average temperature for April, a chill sweeps down my spine. With a plan in place, I climb off the roof using the ladder on the fire escape, my energy too sapped to parkour down. Despondent, I make my way to my car and head home.
Van
“TAKE IT easy, Van.”
I glare at Walt from my treadmill. “It’s set so fucking low my grandma could keep up.”
Calvin’s eyes meet mine in the mirror of the Wild Cats training and rehab facility, giving me his patented “what the fuck” look. I scowl right back, not in the mood for anyone’s shit.
The treadmill suddenly stops, and I nearly fall on my ass. “Jesus Christ, Walt. You’re an asshole.” My trainer stands calmly next to the machine, his hand over the kill switch.
“Do you want to end up injured again? Or worse, needing surgery? Out for an entire season?” I jut out my chin and stare daggers at him. “That’s what I thought,” Walt says, reading my silence as a resounding no. “Get your butt up on the treatment table.”
I step off the treadmill and snarl in Walt’s face. “Quit fucking with me, Emerson. I’m not in the goddamn mood for your bullshit.”
Calvin starts to get off his own exercise bike, but Walt holds up a hand, stopping him. “Get on the table, Van.” Walt’s voice is low and even, but the man is dead serious.
“Fuck!” I shout in frustration as I do as I’m told and climb onto the goddamn table.
“On your stomach.”
I flip over and rest my head on my arms. Walt moves down to my injured leg. He pokes and prods and kneads until I want to punch him in the head. When his probing fingers reach the area around the tear, my entire body jerks off the table.
“Jesus Christ, Walt! You son of a bitch!”
“Get up,” he says calmly, washing his hands in a nearby sink. “To my office.” Walt begins walking away. He turns around when I don’t follow. “Now, Archer, or you’ll be riding the bench come September.”
Bastard.
I can’t train until Walt clears me. He has me by the nads, and he knows it. Normally I’m not such a prick, but last month, after receiving a text from Toby canceling our date, he refused to respond to any of my attempts to reach him. The little shit was even missing at his usual yoga class. I sacked up and asked about him at the front desk. They said he’s taking time off. I was dismissed by Toby without a single explanation, and I fucking hate it.
“Sit.” Walt points at a chair. I flop down heavily and cross my arms over my chest. He takes the seat behind his desk. “Okay, Archer. Why haven’t you been going to the yoga class I set you up with?”
My jaw drops. How does he know?
Walt shakes his head, smirking. “Didn’t think I’d check up on you? I set up the damn class for you, Van. It’s part of your rehab. Of course I’m going to make sure you go.”
“I did go.” Ugh! I sound like a petulant brat.
Walt stares. “How many times?”
“Twice.” If you count the second time, when I went, saw Toby wasn’t there, and left without taking the class.
“Once. One time,” Walt counters. “Listen, rehab sucks. I know it. No one wants to do certain parts of the work, but this is your job. You are paid to keep your body in shape, and if you can’t or won’t, you’ll be out of that job. Get what I’m saying?”
I grind my teeth. “If I don’t take the damn yoga class, I’ll be shit-canned? Really, Walt?”
“Yes, really. And since you can’t manage to get to class, I’ve arranged a private instructor for you. The instructor will come here to the facility so I can keep an eye on things and make sure you’re doing the work.”
I shoot out of my chair, ignoring the loud clatter it makes when it tips back and hits the floor. “Come on, Walt! Don’t make me do that shit in front of everyone else! That’s bullshit! It’s fucking embarrassing.”
The trainer focuses his steely gaze on my face. “Fine. One more chance, Van. I’ll allow you to train at your house, in private. But remember, the instructor works for me, answers to me and the Wild Cats organization. Not you. I will know if you’re skipping sessions or half-assing your way through it.”
“Whatever,” I snap.
“Go,” Walt says, waving me out. “Forget your five miles on the treadmill and just go home. I’ll let you know when the instructor will be at your house.”
I storm out of the office, pass Calvin without saying a word, and climb into my SUV. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I slam my hand on the steering wheel, pissed that I’m angry, pissed that Walt reamed me out, and most of all, pissed that I let Toby get under my skin only to kick me aside.
I jam the keys in the ignition and peel out of the parking lot, wishing the season would start just so I’d have something else to think about besides the enchanting man with the innocent eyes and the sinful body.
Chapter 3
Toby
“WHAT TIME did you say you had to go?” Leo flicks his long bangs out of his face, blinking at me.
“Are you wearing eye liner?” I ask, squinting at my friend while I eat my breakfast.
Leo sniffs and sits back in his chair, or rather my chair, at my kitchen table. “So what if I am? I like it. It makes my eyes pop.” He leans over the table, fluttering his lashes. “Don’t you think?”
“Ummmm… I guess?”
“Ugh! Why am I even asking you, T? You’re like, the exact opposite of a gay man.” He stares at me carefully, raking his eyes up and down my body. “Except the small, hairless twink thing you’ve got going on and the fact you like cock.”
I nearly snort my orange juice all over the table. “Twink? I am so not a twink.” I cross my arms and scowl. “If anyone’s a twink, it’s you, Leo.”
&nb
sp; My best friend bursts out in a fit of giggles. “I know I’m a twink, baby, and I own that shit.” He purses his lips at me, making a loud kissing sound. Leo reaches across the table, snagging a piece of toast from my plate. “So, tell me who this hotshot client is that’s so special they can’t drag their rich ass down to the studio.”
I clear my throat. “I don’t know. All I know is it’s someone who needs yoga as part of physical therapy and can’t come to regular classes to do it.”
Leo’s mouth drops open. “You’re just going to drive to some stranger’s house without knowing anything about them? Not even their name?”
I roll my eyes. “I see private clients at their homes all the time, Leo.”
“But they always tell you who it is, T. This is odd.” Leo taps his fingers on the table. His eyes go wide, and he sucks in an excited breath. “Oh my God! Do you think it’s a celebrity? Maybe that’s why they won’t tell you.” He bounces out of his chair, flitting around the room. “What if it’s someone huge? Like….” Leo whips his head in my direction. “What if it’s that hot gay rock star? What’s his name? Gavin Walker! I would die. If you get to give that man private yoga lessons, I’ll hate you forever, T.”
“Like I said, I don’t know who it is. I was hired by a company through the studio. That’s all I know. It could be some rich old lady who can’t leave her house, or some millionaire shut-in.”
Leo narrows his eyes. “Don’t ruin my dream, Toby.” He turns and literally sashays to the door. “You better tell me everything when you get back, bitch!”
“Bye, Leo.” I huff out a laugh at my dramatic friend as the door clicks shut. We don’t have a lot in common, but Leo was the first person I met when I moved to this apartment. He found me in the hall struggling with my new set of keys and invited himself in. Leo proceeded to help me unpack and made some tea, all while talking nonstop about anything and everything. My head wasn’t in the best place at the time and I found Leo’s constant chatter comforting, not to mention a great distraction. Besides, the guy is funny and loyal, and despite his somewhat overbearing tendencies to try and run my life, he’s one of the only people I know who cares about me.
After cleaning up the dishes, I strip and take a quick shower. To make a good impression, I pull out my best yoga clothes and lay them on the bed. Dropping the towel I have wrapped around my waist, I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my tiny bedroom.
I study my body, head to toe. My hair is thick, wet, and tousled from my shower. I keep a smooth, clean-shaven face since my beard never grows in evenly. A slender neck curves down to toned, hairless pecs and defined abs with a sparse trail of hair leading to a perfectly trimmed pubic area. I’m not super tall, but I’m fit and strong for my size. When I pull my mouth into a smile, two dimples pop out, making me look much younger than twenty-two years old.
Fuck, I’m a twink.
“Damn you, Leo,” I snarl as I yank on my clothes.
“WHOA.”
I double-check the address on my phone with the fancy gilded numbers on the front gate of the property. “This is it,” I murmur to myself. I should have known from the guard I had to pass at the entrance to this very upscale neighborhood that the house would be impressive, but this is beyond what I imagined.
I roll down the window and enter the guest code I was e-mailed into a keypad. The huge wrought iron gates slowly swing open, allowing me to drive through. I follow the long, curving road up to the steps of an enormous Mediterranean style home. A shiver travels the length of my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. This is exactly the type of house Austin wanted us to live in. My stomach twists.
Not today, Toby. Don’t let that jerk ruin another single minute of your life.
Pep talk done, bad memories shaken off, I grab my bag from the passenger seat and make my way up to the enormous dark-stained wood door. The sound of the doorbell is faint, making me wonder if it’s loud enough for the occupant to hear it or if the house is simply well soundproofed.
I have my answer when the thick door opens and I come face to face with….
“Van?”
Van
EVEN WITH his face blazing bright red all the way to the tips of his ears, Toby looks just as hot as I remember. Lightweight gray yoga pants hang off slim hips, the legs tapering to a narrow cuff at his ankles. Toby’s tight shirt is light blue, enhancing the pale sky color of his eyes, the slick Lycra clinging to every hard plane of his torso. My gaze is drawn to pebbled nipples poking through the thin fabric stretched across his chest. That is until Toby turns on his heel and heads for his car.
“Wait! Toby! Where are you going?”
I follow him outside in my bare feet, not giving a shit that the stupid gravel and cobblestone driveway of this ridiculous house is cutting my soles to shreds. The last time I heard from Toby was when he blew me off by text message. There’s no way I’m letting him get away from me without an explanation.
Toby opens the car door, throws his bag in, and cuts me down with a look so venomous I’d never believe he had it in him if I wasn’t witnessing it myself.
“Go to hell, Van. I’m not into games, and I’m sure as fuck not into stalkers.”
I grab the doorframe right before he slams it shut. “Stalking? What are you talking about? I’m not stalking you.”
Toby shoves the door outward, trying to dislodge my hand, but I have a firm grip, and damn if I’m going to let him drive out of here thinking I’m some kind of sick freak.
“Let go,” he says, his voice cracking as he struggles to maintain his composure. I glance down and see his body trembling in the driver’s seat.
Fuck. He is genuinely afraid of me.
I hunch down next to the car so my eyes are level with Toby’s own stunning blues. Even though they’re focused on the front windshield and not on me, it’s shocking to see them rimmed with red, moisture shimmering, ready to spill over at any second.
“Toby,” I say in a low, calm voice. “I didn’t hire you. My athletic trainer did. He was really pissed when he found out I stopped going to the class he set up for me. Your class.” Toby flicks his questioning gaze to mine. My face burns hot, and I shrug. “I quit when you didn’t show up to teach.” Toby’s expression darkens, and I hurry to explain. “Not that I was only there to see you, Toby. Hell, I was just as shocked to see you there as you were to see me, you know, after the hookup and all. I just…. Jesus.” Frustrated, I rake a hand through my hair. “I felt like a freak in that room. Everyone staring at me, whispering. The only good thing about it was you. So when the studio told me you weren’t going to teach the class anymore, I quit.”
Toby finally speaks, but it’s hesitant. “Why?”
I scrunch my brows together. “Why what?”
“Why everything? Why did you feel like a freak? Why was everyone staring at you? Why does it matter who teaches the class?” Toby glances over my shoulder at the monstrosity of a house my agent set up for me to rent when I was a rookie and signed my big contract, too lazy to bother looking for my own place. “Why do you live here?” Toby shakes his head to work it out in his mind. “I don’t understand.”
I stand up and hold out a hand, a peace offering, giving Toby the choice to either come with me or leave. “Let’s go inside and I’ll explain. My feet are getting shredded.”
Toby’s gaze drops to my feet, and his eyes widen. He sucks in a breath. “You’re bleeding!”
I shrug again and join him in staring at my feet. Tiny rivulets of blood are trickling over the pebbles and cobblestones. “It’s not the worst pain I’ve ever been in.” I look back up at Toby. “Come with me?”
Toby bites on that luscious lower lip, pulling it between his perfect white teeth, and the spark of lust inside me that always seems to smolder for Toby ignites like a flare, hot and bright.
“Okay.”
He shoulders his bag and takes my offered hand. My fingers look thick and enormous wrapped around his slender, graceful ones, bu
t damn if it doesn’t feel fucking perfect. I pull Toby to his feet and reluctantly drop his hand, not wanting to scare him away again.
And what the hell is that about anyway? Stalking?
Rage begins to overtake the lust pulsing through my veins at the thought of someone hurting or stalking Toby. Getting irrationally pissed would probably not make him feel safe around me, so instead of thinking about someone stalking Toby, I focus on cleaning up my feet.
“I have a first-aid kit in the kitchen. Straight through there.” I point down the long lavishly marble-tiled hallway.
“You’re bleeding all over the floor,” Toby comments as he follows close behind.
“I couldn’t care less. I hate this house.” It only takes me a second to grab the kit from under the sink. I’ve used it so many times I know exactly where it is.
“Why do you live here if you hate it?” Toby asks. His jaw drops as he watches me haphazardly slap a few Band-Aids on the cuts. “You can’t do it like that. You’ll end up with an infection.”
I stare at him, one foot resting on the other knee, Band-Aid in hand. “It’s not that bad, Toby.”
He scowls, completely adorable as he points to a kitchen chair. “Sit.”
I smother a grin and do as he asks. Toby glides around my kitchen, looking completely at home as he wets a hand towel and rummages through the first-aid kit. What would it be like to wake up in the morning and find Toby wearing nothing but my football jersey as he makes breakfast?
“What are you smiling at?” Toby asks as he kneels on the floor and gently wipes the bottoms of both of my feet.
“You.”
His head snaps up. “Me?”
“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” I suppress the urge to tuck a rogue lock of dark hair behind his ear.
Toby flushes but ignores my question and squeezes antibiotic ointment on the cuts before wrapping them with gauze. “There.” He climbs to his feet. “You should be fine by tomorrow.” Toby discards the garbage and washes his hands. No longer occupied by tending to my wounds, Toby leans against the countertop, arms crossed, nervously chewing at his lip.