Bankers' Hours (5 page)

I looked the other way, and Tristan said, “No one heard you, Grant. You’re fine.”

I heaved a sigh. “Oh, good.” I swallowed. Two more breaths and I felt calmer. “It’s not like I’ve hidden being gay, but saying it out loud to someone I barely know—no offense—freaked me out a little.”

“A little?” he chuckled. “You all but panicked. You turned white as a sheet.”

I should have gotten angry with him for making fun of me, but I just couldn’t. Something in his tone and his smile overrode that option. “Thanks,” I said sarcastically. Then I chuckled. Tristan really did make me feel calm. I liked him, and not just in a wet dream sort of way. He was nice. It was better that he was straight and we only saw each other for ten minutes a week at the bank. In time, maybe he’d be as good a friend as Mel. Most likely he lived close, and it was healthy for me to have more friends who weren’t my mother.

“Anytime,” he said, grinning. “Have a good weekend, Grant. I’ll probably see you Monday.” This time when he winked as he walked off, I didn’t take it to mean anything untoward. He was simply a friendly guy who apparently had no qualms about my sexuality.

Yeah, he’d make a nice friend.

Chapter 3: The Gym, My Fears, And Making Friends With A Straight Guy

I’D CHECKED
out a few gyms in my area, but none of them had suited me. I was looking for a family environment: A place where I could display my weaknesses. A place where I would not be judged. I wanted machines and free weights, but not the commercialized chain gym that advertised bodybuilders and muscle-bound freak shows. My body didn’t need assistance to feel inadequate. If I could find a place where overweight housewives and scrawny guys like me went, then I’d be happy.

The Westminster Family Center was my next stop of the day.

As soon as I walked up to the counter, a mother and her teenage daughter came out with gym bags on their shoulders and freshly washed hair. I assumed the relation because they looked very similar, and their hair was too wet to be from sweat. Their presence in this gym, though, made me think I’d found the right place. I inquired at the counter about membership details and asked for a tour. The tour did the trick.

All the same equipment as those bigger gyms, but only a few of each machine—not twelve treadmills lined up next to sixteen stationary bikes. The walls weren’t even lined with mirrors. Only one wall had mirrors, so if I didn’t want to see how bad my form was I didn’t have to look. This place was heaven.

I filled out the paperwork, scanned my nifty card, and entered my new gym.

Of course, I didn’t actually know how to use most of the machines. I felt slightly stupid looking at the pins and weights and levers, but not stupid enough to ask for help. I thought I’d give it a little time. Maybe by watching other people I’d be able to suss it out. I managed the treadmill for twenty minutes. That wasn’t bad. I figured the next time I’d bring my iPod so I’d be entertained while I walked.

When I moved over to the ab machine and took too long studying the diagram on how to adjust the weights, I heard a familiar voice ask if I needed help. I turned and got the shock of my life. “Tristan?”

“Grant! Wow, what a surprise.” He lost his brief elation when I didn’t answer back. “Grant? Did you hear me?” he asked, waving his hands in front of my face.

I was having one of those out-of-body experiences where I could see myself immobile and blankly catatonic. I knew I was staring, but no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t blink for several seconds.

When I found my ability to respond, I apologized, “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to creep on you or anything. I saw you fiddling with the machine, and I thought I could help. I didn’t realize it was you until you turned around. I swear.”

“W-what are you doing here?” Because I couldn’t manage a hello. I’d had another supersexy dream about him again last night and figured it would take a while for my brain to catch up to the notion we were just friends. Mere friends didn’t daydream and jack off in the shower thinking about their other friends. That was probably frowned upon. Friends also didn’t drool over what
could
be under their friend’s coveralls during the day, and then practically groan aloud when they could see their imagination had greatly underestimated. Unfortunately, I
was
that friend, as the object of my fantasies stood in front of me wearing shorts and a loose tank top.

Oh, holy fuck. How do I look him in the eyes now, when I can see the hair on his chest and all I want to do is touch him?

He smirked. Apparently he thought I was amusing and not at all rude.
Good
. He explained, “I told you I go to a gym. I go to
this
gym.”

“Oh.”

He squinted his eyes slightly. “Grant, if my being here bothers you, I can go back to doing flies and pretend I didn’t see you. I know it’s weird running into people you’re used to seeing in a different context. The first time I saw my accountant here with some friends playing basketball, I swear my chin hit the floor. I’d never seen him in anything but a suit. I promise you, this is a coincidence. I’m not stalking you. You can ask the front desk. I’m here every Saturday at nine, and usually two mornings a week.”

“But… w-why don’t you go to Gold’s Gym or something? Why here?” I was still in shock. I
should
have stood and politely shaken his hand or something. I
should
have at least said hello and thanked him for asking to help me. But nooo. My mouth went dry, and I felt trapped. If Tristan went to this gym, then I’d have to go on different days or reconsider my membership. I wasn’t ready to see him dressed so casually and
not
get hard. All the muscles I could see were huge, and my natural inclination to run my fingers over them was stronger than my willpower to make my hard-on stand down. I didn’t know how to be polite in the face of someone who fit all my criteria for the perfect man. Life was so fucking unfair!

His expression darkened. “Wow. You aren’t at all like I thought. You seemed cool at the bank, but….” Tristan took a step back.

He’s straight. He’s straight. He’s straight. Will the attraction away. Little Adams, go stand in time-out! He’s only a friend.
I repeated this to myself and cleared my throat as I stood up. “I’m sorry,” I said. He stopped moving away and eyed me skeptically. I explained, “Seeing you threw me.”

“No shit.”

“I don’t know many people in Westminster, and I didn’t expect to see you here, dressed differently and asking to help me. It’s bizarre.”

His eyes still held a hard edge, telling me I’d offended him. I would have to try harder at being nice. I was normally nice. I had to blame my rudeness on the situation. I’d never had to try to reroute my hormones to be friends with someone, let alone a straight guy. My friends had mostly been women. I didn’t make male friends often. In fact, I think Mel was my only one.

“Okay,” he said. “Start over?” He held out his rough and slightly dirty-looking hand, which last time had sent me to the bathroom to scrub mine after shaking it, and waited for me to clasp it.

I hesitated but shook the hand that basically swallowed mine. When he let go, I looked at my palm, and then I sniffed it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, your hands look dirty, and I expected some would come off.”

He chuckled with a mocking pitch and shook his head. “Wow. You’re rather impertinent, aren’t you?” He held out his hands. “They’re stained, Grant. I’ve worked on cars every day, of every week, for the last ten years. I get more oil and grease on my hands in a week than you’ll have on yours in a lifetime. I wash my hands all the time. I promise. Go ahead, touch me. My hands are as clean as they’re gonna get.”

Yes, this was the strangest exchange I’ve had with a guy, but I was not without curiosity. I
had
wondered about his hands. I ran my fingers over one palm. “It feels sweaty.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. I’ve been working out for thirty minutes. Other than sweat, my hands are clean.”

I wiped my palm down my sweatpants, and Tristan smirked again.

“All right, let’s try something else,” he instructed. “Sit down at the machine like you were, but in the other direction.”

I did as asked, and he pointed out which pegs to move in order to adjust the weights. When he leaned over to explain something else, I could see down his loose shirt.
Oh shit, his nipples are pebbled.
I was glad I wasn’t lying on my back for this exercise. Things were getting
harder
to control.

He’s my friend. He’s my friend.

The effort it took to move the weights helped relax my semierection. I couldn’t exert this much effort and think sexual thoughts. I did three repetitions, and Tristan stopped me. “Let me change this. It shouldn’t be this hard for you to lift.”

He changed the weight, and I tried it again.

“There. That’s better. Do twenty of those, and then I’ll help you figure out the next machine.” He smiled at me and went to the bench to resume flies.

I indulged my unhealthy desire and watched him. Tristan sat on the bench, picked up his weights, and lay back with one foot on the floor on either side. He held his arms straight out to the side, holding free weights in each hand. His chest flexed. I could see a slight mound in his shorts and looked away. Lusting over someone I’d never have would only serve to kill the friendship.

I sighed and concentrated on my own issues. I had a terribly underdeveloped body. My abs weren’t used to exercise. I should have been glad he hadn’t laughed when he changed the weight I was using. It was pathetically little.

The more I thought about it, the more I was actually glad Tristan was only a friend. If he were gay and we got along this well, I would never have been able to work out in the same gym with him. I’d have been too embarrassed. It would have murdered my pride to allow him to see how little weight I used and how stupid I was in my inability to figure out the diagram for the machine. It was sad. I was sad.

Tristan, on the other hand, was nice and patient. He didn’t have to be. I’d been really rude. He had every right to go to this gym. I finished and walked over to another machine. It was easier to figure out, so Tristan didn’t need to help. He glanced over at me and winked as I counted reps. After I finished and moved to a different one, Tristan walked over.

“I’m all done here, so I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Okay.”

He nodded but hesitated to leave. “Just to warn you, since you kind of freaked about seeing me here, next week I have my daughter. We normally come here together every other Saturday morning. She likes the elliptical and some of the classes.”

Daughter?
“Oh, yeah, sure.” The idea of a kid laughing at my efforts scared me.

“We normally come at nine for a couple of hours. If you show up around then, we’ll be here. I just thought I should warn you.”

“Thank you.”

“Okay. See you later. Have fun painting your kitchen.”

He walked away, and I watched him go. He was so nice.

DURING THE
week, Tristan came in on Monday, but I’d missed him on Friday. I wasn’t sure how, assuming he’d come in as he had the other Fridays, but I’d been talking to the manager about selling IRAs and two hours of the afternoon had disappeared before I knew it.

Saturday morning, I had a choice to make. Did I go to the gym when I knew Tristan would be there with his daughter, or go after they’d left? I showed up at 8:45 a.m.

I was hiding on the treadmill in the back when I spotted them entering: Tristan, looking as sexy as ever in shorts and a loose blue tank top, and his daughter, a short, thin, blonde teenage girl with similar features and a bright smile. She was laughing as he poked her side. They seemed so happy. I looked away. Their family time didn’t need prying eyes.

I moved to the leg press. I thought I’d start with a hundred pounds. That was a lot, right? I glanced over at Tristan before lying back. He smiled softly before turning his attention back to his daughter, who’d come up and was pointing at something on the other side of the room. I sighed. He was a dad, and I was just a guy who worked at his bank.

After using two other machines in my rotation around the gym, I assessed my decision to come this morning when I knew Tristan would be here. Why had I come? I wanted to see him. I enjoyed seeing him. We’d made small talk at the bank, and his smile surely did things to me that weren’t healthy in a friendship like ours, but being around him in a nonprofessional way also conflicted with my sensibilities. Avoiding him until I could move past my attraction was probably best, but if I avoided the gym when I knew he’d be there and he noticed, then I might as well kiss our friendship good-bye. He’d probably get mad. He would know I was avoiding him.

Today, though, he’d come in and spent a good thirty minutes working one machine and then the next, stopping to help his daughter, but hadn’t come over to talk to me. I thought it might have been because of the way I’d acted last week, but it also could have been having his daughter with him. Maybe he didn’t want me to meet her. Maybe he thought she’d annoy me. Maybe he wanted to keep her away from a gay man.

“No,” I mumbled. “I doubt that.” He hadn’t seemed bothered about my sexuality and hadn’t treated me differently. “He got angry when I was rude,” I mumbled some more.

I finished chest presses and glanced over at him again. It had become a habit for the last five stations. I couldn’t go about my routine without knowing where he was. Tristan was looking my way this time. I smiled softly, much like he’d done to me last week. I thought he’d walk over, but he didn’t. I took a deep breath and realized I wouldn’t be happy sitting across the room, so I walked over.

“Hey,” I said. “I worked the machines on my own this week.”

He grinned. “I noticed.”

I gave him my guilty look. “I have a confession. I came in Wednesday night and asked an employee to show me how to do everything.”