Chapter 2

Brett stopped scrubbing and leaned his hands on the shower wall, letting the water beat on his back, his dick plumping at the memories of sex with Colton.

Goddamn it! Three years with that lying, cheating sack of shit, followed by a year of therapy—working on thinking with my big head instead of the little one, and here I am, still getting hard over that son of a bitch.

Brett wanted to beat the hell out of Colton for what the guy had put him through, the lies, the drugs, the cheating.

“Fuck!” he cursed as he slammed his hand against the wall.

“You okay in there, buddy?” a voice from the neighboring stall asked.

“Yeah, sorry.” Brett felt his body flush with embarrassment. “I’m cool.”

Brett turned into the spray and leaned his head forward to rinse out the conditioner. He moved around to let the water clean the soap off his body. He increased the cold water for a final rinse, enjoying the sensation of his skin tightening under the frigid temperature.

Turning off the shower, Brett reached through the curtain for his towel. Wryly he noted that the cold rinse had done little to relax the plumpness of his penis.

A year of celibacy can do that, I guess.He softly groaned at the thought as he stepped away from the shower and started drying himself. Another man pushed past Brett to hang his towel on the hook and jump into the stall, pulling the curtain firmly closed.

After everything he’d gone through with his ex, Brett knew shutting down all sexual activity had been not only the best decision, but also the correct one. Whenever he’d started to question Colton’s behavior—the disappearing for hours, the secretive texting that abruptly ended when Brett walked in the room, the missing money—Colton would seduce him. At those times the sex was always intense and amazing. So good, that Brett would question his suspicions.

Dried off, Brett flung his towel over his shoulder and walked toward the changing area, ignoring the salacious glances and smiles at his semi-erect penis from the men who were obviously hoping to play. Arriving at his locker, Brett was happy to find the surrounding lockers free of people for a change. He opened the lock and pulled out his clothes.

Slipping into his blue jeans and a black polo shirt, Brett thought about all those times he’d tried to confront his ex, only to have things twisted back into being Brett’s fault.

Brett sat down to pull on his socks and shoes. Bending over, he started tying the laces. He stopped for a moment as he tried to push aside the recalled sting of those mind-fucks. Bitterly, Brett knew that that had been the worst of the relationship—and the most damaging—those twisted mind games that had caused Brett to start doubting his own sanity

The muscleman from the shower walked over and started unlocking the locker immediately next to Brett’s. Being at eye level, Brett couldn’t help noticing the red, semi-swollen penis on Mr. Chelsea Boy that had so obviously recently been pleasured.

“Hey, buddy, how’s it goin’?”

Brett peeled his eyes away from the guy’s penis long enough to register that the man had said something.

“Good.” Brett fumbled for something to say, not out of interest but politeness. “Um, you?”

“Had a great workout.” The man rolled his shoulders, expanding his smooth chest, then reached down and lightly rubbed the head of his dick with his thumb. “Can tell you work out a lot. You’ve got great definition in your delts and tris.”

“Thanks,” Bret mumbled as he leaned back down to finish tying his laces.

“And you’ve got a great ass—you do a lot of lunges, or what?”

“Hmm? Oh, uh…yeah, lunges…and a lot of stairs and squats.”

“Yeah,” the man growled. “Great muscle ass…”

“Okay.” Brett mentally rolled his eyes; he couldn’t miss the plumping of the man’s cock. What do I say to that? “Thanks, would you like to fuck me?” Fucking Chelsea Boy. Wonder if he’s got someone at home that doesn’t know he messes around at the gym? Wonder if he lies about it? Wonder if… Brett shook his head to stop the downward spiral of negative thinking. Jesus Christ, enough. Maybe the guy’s just being friendly.

“So…nice talking with you. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“A hot, sexy daddy like you? I hope so.” The man grinned, his perfect white teeth gleaming. “Next time, buddy.”

“Um, sure.” Brett offered as he quickly crammed the rest of his stuff into his gym bag, ran his fingers through his hair in a feeble attempt to tame it, and headed for the door.

As he passed by the front desk, the perky blonde shouted out to him, “Thank you, sir. Have a great night.”

“You, too,” Brett mumbled as he pushed through the glass doors.

Obviously she’s new to New York. She’s just way too friendly, Brett thought before he berated himself. Happy thoughts, Brett. Happy thoughts, he reminded himself. It’s nice to have people being friendly. Shaking his head, he proceeded down a crowded 8thAvenue toward home, reflecting on how he’d become so cynical when that wasn’t his true nature.

* * * *

“You used to laugh all the time,” Leo said over the loud mariachi music as he scooped up some guacamole on a tortilla chip and put it in his mouth.

Rather than answer, Brett shrugged and studied the members of the mariachi band. They were dressed in silver-studded charrooutfits with wide-brimmed sombreros and seemed to be enjoying themselves. The harmonies they were singing sounded effortless and beautiful; the finger work on their string instruments was exceptional. Brett didn’t comprehend the Spanish lyrics, he just allowed himself to go with the feelings. It was sublime.

Brett applauded with the rest of the patrons when the band finished their current song.