CHAPTER FIVE
Later that day, Ethan went to the gym to do his usual forty-five minutes on the elliptical while reading for class. He never got much read—textbook materials were usually too dense to focus on while running—but he still liked being productive.
He tried reading over the Constitutional Law textbook, which struggled to stay on the bookrest on his machine. The plastic bar holding it up looked like it was going to snap any second, so he put it down and took out the PowerPoint printout from that day’s lecture. Professor Sharpe would probably pull any test material from the notes rather than the book. He promised himself that he would do all the textbook reading later.
He walked past the weight room on his way to the stretching room, and there, working some dumbbells, were Greg and an Indian guy. Greg wore a T-shirt that left his muscular arms in full view. Sweat mussed up his hair, and he stared into the mirror with an intense look as he lifted the weights, his triceps flexing with each rep. The other guy texted on his phone with one hand while doing half-hearted dumbbell lifts with the other.
Ethan hadn’t thought Greg could be that intense and focused about anything. Apparently, he was wrong. Very wrong. Ethan walked slowly to the stretching room to take in a few extra seconds of Greg in his weight-training glory. He knew he would never have a body like that, but it didn’t hurt to admire the guys who did.
Ethan stretched and did some sit-ups and push-ups. This had been a great day thus far. He’d learned, he’d studied, he’d done homework, and he’d worked out. All major boxes had been checked off.
When he finished, he walked to the back of the locker room. The sound of a loud guy telling a story wafted from his row. Ethan dreaded having to change next to guys like this. Instead of changing in peace, he had to actively try to drown out the voices. He felt awkward, like he was interrupting their conversation or becoming a de facto third wheel. Ethan reached his row and froze.
The loud guy was Greg’s friend. And Greg was next to him. Shirtless.
Greg greeted him with a head nod, but Ethan couldn’t manage a smile. Some feeling paralyzed him—fear, nervousness…something else? His face drained of all color, and he immediately looked down, though not before glimpsing Greg’s muscular, cut chest.
“Do you remember that hot chick in that polka-dot shirt, tits nearly hanging out?” The friend estimated the size of her breasts. “She was at that stoplight party, and we totally hooked up. Dude, she was such a nice piece.”
“Excuse me,” Ethan said. It came out as a mumbled whisper. He motioned to the locker right next to theirs, which of course just had to be his today. He squeezed in the middle.
“Sure.” Greg nodded at him like nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong. They were in a locker room. People get changed in locker rooms all the time. This was all perfectly acceptable behavior, Ethan assured himself.
Ethan hated these situations. He worried that guys would instantly know he was gay and demand that he leave. Or worse. He never sneaked a peek or anything like that. This was a delicate situation—gay and straight men in a locker room. He had to handle it just right. Not make others uncomfortable and not let on that he totally was. He wondered if he was the only gay guy who felt that way.
Greg undid his sneakers. “You gonna see her again, Sahil?”
Sahil kept mum, and Greg punched him in the shoulder playfully. It looked to Ethan like it would’ve hurt at least a little. Not that he was looking at them. Nope. Not at all. Ethan focused every ounce of eyesight on a peeled strip of gray paint on his locker.
“So that was who you were texting during our workout.”
“Hey, man, I still worked out my left arm,” Sahil said.
“I’m sure you’ll work out your right tonight. Alone.”
Ethan opened his locker. He sat on the bench, inches from both of them. Sahil took off his shorts, and then Greg did the same.
Greg was now in nothing but boxer briefs. White boxer briefs that hugged his butt, forming this perfect curve. It was like an upside-down question mark. Ethan used all his willpower to avert his eyes. He’s an asshole. He’s mean to me, Ethan repeated to himself.
“Still hitting the books?” Greg asked him. Ethan had to look up. He’d been asked a question. His heart galloped in his chest.
He caught a glance of Greg’s broad chest, a drop of sweat trickling down each well-defined muscle and ab, before making eye contact. He wondered how long it’d taken Greg to get that body or if it was another gift of birth.
Ethan patted his law textbook, bringing him back to the present. “Yeah. I tried. I just read the outline.”
“’Atta boy,” Greg said with a wink that made Ethan’s blood rush through his face. And elsewhere.
Ethan untied his shoes. He would take his time and avoid going shirtless in front of these guys. His slender torso had some definition, but nothing like what he was facing. Or not facing. Because he wasn’t looking.
He’s an asshole. He’s mean to me.
Sahil’s booming voice chimed back in, and Ethan gladly hid behind it. “Dude, what happened to that blonde you were talking to at the party?”
Greg shrugged, and Ethan caught a flash of discomfort squeeze onto his face. “She was all right. We’ve been texting.”
“That’s it, Sandman? I thought you’d already found out if the carpet matched the drapes.”
“I’ll keep you posted.”
“You’re slipping,” Sahil said with a slight edge.
“Still got a better game than you. Although not as good a game as Wendell Sharpe.”
Ethan realized that was for him. They were waiting for his response. Heat choked his neck. “Um, yeah.”
“Have fun studying,” Greg said.
“I’m going to read the textbook later.”
“Okay.”
“I will.” That came out as a yelp. Ethan cringed and looked forward to some privacy.
“I believe you.” Greg pointed at him. Ethan felt so small. “Happy studying, Ethan.”
Greg wrapped his waist in a towel and tossed his boxer briefs in his locker. The towel hung just under that heavenly V that his abs formed—a “happy trail” was what he’d heard some girls in his dorm call it. His eyes burned with want. Only for Greg’s body, he told himself. Everything else about him could be recycled.
Ethan waited until the guys left for the shower. He took off his sweat-soaked shirt and placed it in a plastic grocery bag before putting it in his locker. He slyly turned his head to glance behind him, wanting to make sure they both were fully gone.
Behind him, Greg strutted to the showers, taking wide steps that would’ve moved any guy to get out of his way. He removed his towel, and Ethan viewed the nicest ass he’d ever seen. Round, firm, everything he expected and more. You could bounce your entire piggy bank off that thing. A buzz of energy surged through Ethan’s body, giving his heart a real workout compared to the elliptical.
And then Greg looked over his shoulder.
Their eyes locked, and Ethan felt a police spotlight shine on him. He’d been caught! Was he staring? Oh crap! How long had that glimpse lasted?
Greg had no smirk, no eyebrow raise this time. And just as quickly as he’d turned around, Greg entered the shower. That two seconds stretched to an hour in Ethan’s mind. He couldn’t gauge Greg’s reaction. He’d seemed to be just as surprised as Ethan.
Heat burned up Ethan’s face, and all air escaped his lungs. He’d broken the number one of the locker room. There’s no way he could ever come back here. No way he could return to Constitutional Law. He might as well move out of state.
He changed into his clothes in a matter of seconds, shoved everything into his backpack and dashed out of there while Greg, thankfully, was still in the shower.