Damn, I liked that way too much. Crushing on Wyatt Anderson was effortless, which could become a problem because Harps would straight up murder me. However, my impulse control was shit, and Wyatt was the shiniest distraction I’d found in ages.
“Weights first,” he said. “Then I can decide how much I want to torture myself.” Wyatt led the way, which was no hardship because his gray sweats showcased those muscular glutes to perfection, and well, fuck, I could write sonnets on the sight. Even though I was a slutty bottom on my best day, I’d never turn down eating a fine ass. And that ass deserved to be devoured.
The gym wasn’t super crowded at noon midweek, which I appreciated because otherwise we’d have a wait for certain equipment. Wyatt found a clear weight rack and dropped the bag on his shoulder to the ground. He then stripped off his hoodie in a fluid motion. My jaw just about dropped. Mr. Anderson was wearing very slutty gray sweatpants and now a very slutty tank top that highlighted how often he got physical. His big broad shoulders were on clear display, and the tank dipped low enough to showcase peeks of those tanned pecs as well as a furry chest. Ngh. If I had to work out with him, I was going to be in agony.
Right to horny jail for me.
I let out a low whistle. “What are you doing working out when you already look like that?”
Wyatt ducked his head and squeezed his nape, a ruddy flush rising to his cheeks. “Working out is the only reason I’m still able to do manual labor at my age.”
“Mm’kay, we’re going to have to figure out a system of sorts. Every time you drop an ‘at my age,’ then I’m going to drop a lurid and explicit sex story.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest and fixed him with a look. “Those seem to shut most of the people in my life up.”
A sharp laugh exploded from Wyatt. “You’re something else, Rory Brannon.”
“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” I said with a sniff. “Now, are you going to lift first or should I embarrass myself?”
“Mind spotting me?” he asked.
Hallelujah. My prayers had been answered.
“That’s what I’m here for, right?” I teased, stepping to the side of the weight bench.
Wyatt shook his head, his cheeks flushing again. I was grateful he took my naturally flirty self in stride, since not every straight guy did. My big mouth had gotten me in trouble before. My stomach churned—some cuts were deeper than others. Not like I learned any lessons in the process.
He loaded the barbell with a few more weights, about one hundred and twenty pounds. God, I bet he grunted while he lifted too. If there was sweating and grunting and flexing, I could fantasize to my heart’s content.
He lay back on the bench, and damn, the sight of him sprawled out there turned me on so badly, his thick thighs clear from the way those sweats showcased them. My cock stirred to life, and trying to keep it tamped down while spotting for him would be a tricky situation. Helicked his lips, and the urge to lean down and trace the path with my tongue rose something fierce.
“All ready. I’m ready for it,” he said, and I wrapped my hands between his to help him lift it off the rack. He gripped it tight, his focus switching to the barbell as he lowered it toward his chest. Fuck, the way his arms bulged as he performed his reps was ridiculously hot.
“I’ll just lean here and look pretty until you need me again,” I said, even though I knew better than to lean against the weight rack.
Wyatt snorted. “Not. Helping. Rory.”
His breaths came out faster as he pumped the barbell, and sweat beaded across his forehead. The cords of his neck stood out, and fuck, the sight of him working out was so damn hot.
Clearly, it had been too long since I’d gotten laid. Maybe a few weeks ago? If he weren’t freshly dick-pierced, Harper’s dad, recently divorced, and straight, I’d be begging him to fuck me in the bathroom here.
The bulge between his legs was significant, and I remembered the heft and feel of his cock since I’d been the one to pierce it. He let out a grunt, the low sound stirring my groin. I obviously needed to be more concerned with my own cock than focusing on his. I didn’t make a habit of spotting for people at the gym, since I couldn’t stay in one place for the life of me, but Wyatt Anderson was such pornographic eye candy that I couldn’t help but ogle him. The eye-fucking turned into enough of a sport that I remained in my spot.
The flex of his tanned muscles mesmerized me, and I wanted to lick the glisten of sweat off them. His armpits were on display, tufts of hair peeking out, and fuck, I wanted to get close there too. Armpits were a real fucking thing for me.
“Okay, I’m close to finishing up,” he said, continuing to move the barbell at an even tempo. “You ready for me?”
“I like to always be prepped,” I said cheekily.
Wyatt’s grunt mixed with a snort, and he thrust the barbell up. I helped him rerack it, and he slowly pushed up from the weight bench. His gym shirt had a big wet spot in the center, and he lifted the hem up to mop at his forehead, which revealed a delicious six-pack. His shoulders heaved with exertion, and the boyish grin on his face caused my adrenaline to pick up.
He needed to stop being so damn attractive. Either that, or I needed to stop putting myself right in his way.
“Ready for your turn?” he asked.
I heaved a sigh. I had signed up for this, I guess. “Fine, but I’m taking off at least half the weight on the barbell. You’ll need to keep your eyes glued to me the whole time, okay?”
“You’re a handful, aren’t you?” he teased, his dark eyes crinkling at the edges. The way he said it struck me differently than normal, an amusement there that I liked. Usually when people told me I was a handful, a weary sigh accompanied the statement.
I offered a wink. “You have no idea.”
