Emmett adjusted the seat of the chest press, tested the weight, and lowered it by half.
Four pumps into his first set, a guy in a skimpy tank top forced him to stop and pull out an earbud. “Sorry?”
“Just wanted you to know you’re doing great, bud,” the gym bro said. “It’s dope you’re here.” Disjointed black tattoos like Harry Styles’s showed above the collar of his tank top and staggered down his arms. An angel-winged cross, the 619 area code in Gothic lettering, the wordsEAT MEstamped into the gym bro’s forearm. “Keep it up.”
Emmett’s polite response belied the tight feeling constricting his chest, the sudden itch to grab his stuff and bolt.
Men thought they were being kind saying shit like that, lifting someone up who “so obviously needed it,” but for Emmett, being singled out for his weight only reminded him how much he didn’t fit in.
The gym bro was talking again. Emmett yanked his earbud out once more, struggling now to hide his irritation. “Sorry?”
“How many more reps you got?”
“I just started.”
The man’s smile flattened. “Alright,” he muttered.
How quicklyIt’s awesome you’re herebecameNow hurry up and leavethe second Emmett insisted on taking up space.
The gym bro milled around, playing on his phone, putting pressure on Emmett to finish quickly. Making him feel that he was being watched, his form being critiqued behind a derisive smirk.
Despite his insecurity, Emmett couldn’t keep his eyes off the deep armholes in the gym bro’s tank, the muscled body exposed almost down to the waist: the inked pecs, the ripple of ribs, the chiseled V pointing down toward his dick.
Emmett resented how badly he craved the taste of him, how badly he hungered for his meat.
He let the weights drop and snatched up his water. “All yours, bro.”
“Hey, you gonna wipe that down?”
Emmett looked back at the machine, the seat shining with sweat.
“Sorry.” Embarrassed, he grabbed some paper towels and disinfectant from the dispenser on the wall.
“Guess you don’t come here often.” That smirk again.
A prickling shame rose to Emmett’s cheeks. He scoured the seat andgrips, tossed the paper towels into the trash, and hurried back upstairs. Looking back, he saw the gym bro giving the seat an extra wipe, making sure nothing of Emmett was left.
As he walked out into the parking lot and climbed into his car, his phone buzzed in his pocket.Brrrrup!He unlocked it to find new messages from a profile named 4Now. He could see from the profile picture it was the man he had once known as J.
With a low murmur of dread through his gut, Emmett opened the chat log and read.
I thought you looked familiar (sort of)
Fuck, what happened to you?
Good thing you’re at the gym
Emmett froze. Tears needled the backs of his eyes as he pocketed the phone and fumbled the key into the ignition. Wind buffeted through the open windows as the car peeled through the lot and turned onto the street.
The signs of half a dozen taco shops and fast-food restaurants guided him home; he barely beat the lure of one before another came at him, whispering its promise of fleeting comfort. White-knuckling the thought of all the calories he’d just burned, all the good he mustn’t let go to waste (Feel the burn), he made it back to the apartment without stopping, before realizing Lizette was staying at Armando’s.
Fuck.He was counting on her presence to keep him in check.
He searched the kitchen. There was pretty much nothing: a few slices of provolone, last week’s bread, peanut butter, the last bag of microwave popcorn. When Emmett was ravenous like this, it didn’t make any difference. However little there was, it was always enough to binge.
He ate rolled-up cheese slices while the popcorn popped, chased it with a peanut butter sandwich. Craving sweetness, he toasted the heels of the loaf. Tore them up trying to smear hard chunks of butter over them. A generous sprinkle of sugar and cinnamon, and he had his dessert.
He barely chewed, swallowed painfully. A good pain, though. A painof pleasure, stretching his stomach and dampening the burn. Now he was glad he was alone. It meant he could relax, didn’t have to hide. He couldn’t help it, even when it was just Lizette.
