Page 29 of Muscle Cub

As long as there might be any chance I’d get to hang out with Austin again, I couldn’t leave.

But even if I harbored the tiniest secret hope, I couldn’t help voicing my doubts. “Why would someone like him, who’s clearly living his best life in his best body in a twenty-four seven playground, want a forty-two-year-old doctor of English literature whose idea of the perfect weekend is getting up early enough on Saturday to beat the crowds at the home improvement stores?” I laughed as if I were being self-deprecating. I was trying to spar with Eric, to challenge his idea of Austin and me as a match, to see if he could convince me it wasn’t a ridiculous notion.

Ben shrugged. “Sounds pretty fucking nice. A lot of men want a home and somebody they can trust to build one with. The party can’t last forever.”

I watched Austin opening a beer for a shirtless, muscular guy with a mullet that was probably meant to be ironic but nevertheless made me question how hot that hairstyle could actually be on the right person. Austin grinned at him, his teeth brilliant white against his tan, scruffy face.

Maybe he would want to settle down at some point, but surely it would be with someone his own age and with someone who looked like him.

I could see it.

They’d go to the gym together six days a week and spend Sundays prepping high-protein meals of bland chicken cutlets and recovery shakes. They’d adopt a pair of pit bull rescues and drive them to the park in their Jeep. They’d invite their buddies over to watch sportsball on a TV the size of a wall. They’d get married in matching tuxes they could barely move in because no suit could be tailored to the bulk of their shoulders and thighs.

Austin came out from behind the bar and headed straight for our table.

“Shit,” I said. “He’s coming over.”

12

“Can I get you gentlemen anything from the bar?” Austin asked.

Everyone declined except Noah, who asked if it would be possible to get a coffee.

“Sure. I can put a pot on.” Austin glanced over at me. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I pointedly looked down at his shoes. My shoes.

“Sorry.” He grimaced. “They’re so fucking comfortable.”

I shook my head. “Don’t be. I’m sorry they’re so fucking old.”

“I like wearing them.” I remembered his commenting on how he could feel the shape of my foot.

I almost said, Wear them every day and think of me, but I managed to bite my tongue at the last second. I was definitely tipsy.

“Are you blushing, Prof?”

I lowered my chin and glared at him through my eyelashes. Surely he wasn’t going to make me remind him about the medication.

“Oh, right!” He glanced at my lap, and his dark eyes flashed. “Is that still working for ya?”

If it hadn’t been for the table, he might’ve seen the fabric of my shorts visibly throb.

Before I could think of a coherent answer, Eric interrupted to invite Austin to their cabin for drinks this evening before the bonfire.

Austin nodded. “I’ll try to swing by.” He told Noah to give him a couple minutes on the coffee, and after making an excuse about not wanting to leave the bar unattended for too long, he left.

Eric turned to me with a smug expression. “You’re welcome.”

I shook my head. “‘I’ll swing by’ is what he says so he doesn’t have to say no. He told me so himself.”

“He’ll be there.”

“We’ll see.”

The population of the campground might have doubled during the day. The pool area was jammed with bodies. Austin was slammed at the cabana bar for hours. We didn’t get a chance to speak again, but I never stopped watching him. The few times I caught his eye, he smiled.

Dinner was madness. We had to wait outside for tables to empty before we could rotate into the line for food. The staff all had harried, focused expressions, and their usual banter was terse.