Chapter 1: The Gym Around the Corner
I’ve always been a creature of habit, especially when it comes to my body. At 36, with a job that has me bouncing from one sterile hotel room to another across the country, the gym is my anchor. Hotel gyms are predictable: clean, quiet, equipped just enough to keep my muscles from turning to mush during those endless business trips. But back home in Arlington, it's a different story. No home gym setup, no fancy membership. Just me, staring at my apartment walls, feeling the itch of inactivity creep in after a couple of weeks without travel.
Lately, it's been one of those stretches. No flights, no client meetings in bumfuck nowhere. Just desk work from my cramped home office, consulting for the big firm that pays my bills but drains my soul. I needed a fix. So, I did what any self-respecting guy does: I Googled. "Gyms near me Arlington VA." Up popped fitARL, this sleek new spot just a two-minute walk from my place. No frills, no staff hovering like vultures... just scan a QR code and you're in. Perfect for a guy like me who appreciates efficiency and solitude.
I signed up online for a trial session, got my QR code emailed, and after wrapping up a particularly mind-numbing conference call, I headed over. It was late afternoon, the kind of gray January day in the DC area that makes you crave warmth and sweat. The gym was tucked into a modern building off Wilson Boulevard, all glass and minimalism. I scanned in at the unmanned door, the beep echoing in the empty lobby. Inside, it was sparse but well-equipped: rows of free weights, machines that looked brand new, a cardio area with treadmills facing floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the street. Only a handful of people were there—a couple of women on ellipticals, an older guy grunting through bench presses. No crowds, no distractions. Or so I thought.
I hit the locker room first, changing into my usual gear: black shorts that hugged my thighs just right, a fitted tank top that showed off the chest hair I keep trimmed to that perfect, masculine length. I'm not vain, but I know what works for me. Bald head, thick black beard framing a face that's been called rugged more times than I can count, and those blue eyes that always throw people off... rare with my dark features, but they seal the deal on apps like Grindr. Hookups are easy when you're 6'2", built from years of discipline, and carry yourself like you own the room. But that's all they ever are: hookups. Quick, satisfying, gone by morning. No strings, no butterflies. Just bodies.
I started with cardio to warm up, hopping on a treadmill and cranking it to a steady jog. The rhythm helped clear my head, my eyes scanning the space out of habit. Checking out the equipment, sure, but also the talent. It's a gym, after all... what gay man doesn't multitask? There wasn't much to see at first. Then, over by the squat racks, I spotted him.
He was young, probably early twenties, with a build that screamed dedication. Short blond hair in a buzz cut, smooth face, no beard, and a body that was all muscle: broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, legs like tree trunks. Not tall, maybe 5'6" or so, but he carried it with confidence. He was loading plates onto a barbell, focused, but something about his movements was off. A little jerky, like he was overthinking every step.
And then it happened. A loud clang echoed through the gym as he tripped over his own water bottle, yes, his own damn bottle... sending it skittering across the floor while he fumbled the plate he was holding. It bounced once, twice, before rolling to a stop near the dumbbells. The guy froze, cheeks flushing red, then burst out laughing at himself. "Well, shit," he muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, "that's one way to announce I'm here."
I rolled my eyes, suppressing a smirk. Clumsy as hell, but damn if he wasn't hot. A young stud, all innocent energy wrapped in that ripped physique. I kept jogging, but my gaze drifted back to him more than once. He picked up the plate, shaking his head, and glanced around as if to see if anyone noticed. Our eyes met briefly, and he flashed a sheepish grin before getting back to his set.
I finished my warm-up and moved to the weights, grabbing a bench for some presses. The gym was quiet again, just the hum of machines and occasional grunts. But clumsy boy over there? He wasn't done. As I was mid-set, I heard another commotion: a dumbbell slipping from his grip mid-curl, clattering to the mat. He caught it before it rolled away, but not without a dramatic flail that nearly knocked over a nearby rack. "Jesus, Steph, get it together," he said to himself, chuckling. Steph. So that was his name.
This time, I couldn't help but stare. He was adorable in his awkwardness, that muscular frame betraying a boyish charm. And hot... undeniably hot. Smooth skin, no body hair from what I could see under his tank, and those arms... fuck. I felt a familiar stir, the kind that usually leads to a quick app scroll in a hotel bar. But here? In my new local spot? Intriguing.
He must have felt my eyes on him because he looked up, wiping sweat from his brow. Instead of looking away, he sauntered over, that grin widening. "Hey, man, sorry if I'm disturbing the peace over here. First time seeing you, new member?"
I set down the barbell, sitting up and meeting his gaze. Up close, he was even better. Green eyes, I think, with a spark of mischief. And that voice: light, friendly, with a hint of sass. "Trial day," I replied, keeping it cool. "Avie."
"Steph," he said, extending a hand. His grip was firm, calloused from weights. "Welcome to fitARL, where the equipment fights back. Or maybe that's just me." He laughed again, self-deprecating but genuine. "Seriously, though, if you need a spot or anything, holler. I promise not to drop it on your head."
I chuckled despite myself. "I'll keep that in mind. You always this... entertaining?"
"Only on days ending in Y," he shot back, winking. "Keeps things interesting. Anyway, back to it. Don't let me interrupt your pump."
He turned away, but not before another quick glance over his shoulder. Was that a once-over? Hard to tell. Straight guys sometimes look, but this felt different. Or maybe I was projecting. Either way, as I dove back into my workout, I couldn't shake him. Steph. Clumsy, sassy, and way too appealing for a quiet gym session.
By the time I wrapped up, showering off the sweat in the empty locker room, I was already thinking about coming back. Not just for the weights.... for the view. Little did I know, this was just the start.
... To be continued
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