Chapter 1: A Beautiful Morning
The digital clock on the Airbnb nightstand flipped to 4:00 AM.
Right on cue, Matt’s eyes blinked open. There was no lingering fatigue from the long drive or the mixer or the heavy Italian dinner—just that pleasant muscle ache in his hips and thighs from keeping Erin very happy for the better part of an hour. He was wide awake and raring to go.
He rolled out of bed, shifting his weight with ninja-level husband skills to keep any creaking springs from waking Erin. She was still buried deep under the blankets, fast asleep.
Matt dressed quickly in the dark, pulling on the gym shorts he’d laid out the night before and an old cutoff t-shirt that stretched comfortably over his chest and shoulders. He plucked the plastic access fob from the dresser and slipped out into the hall, closing the door softly behind him.
He brushed his teeth to a minty froth, humming Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin' to time his full two minutes. He spit, rinsed, and splashed cold water on his face. Grabbing the orange prescription bottle, he tapped his morning capsule into his palm and dry-swallowed it.
Catching his reflection in the mirror, he finger-combed his golden-retriever blond hair, tamping down the cowlick at the front. It popped right back up.
He chuckled, giving his reflection a knowing wink. Can’t win ’em all.
By the dim glow of the kitchen window, Matt filled the coffee machine’s water reservoir. He dropped a fresh filter into the basket and measured out the grounds. He set out two ceramic mugs for Erin and Chloe. Mission prep complete.
He took his insulated water bottle from the counter and slipped out the front door, closing it quietly behind him.
It was only the third week of the fall semester, and the morning air hadn't yet turned cold. There was only a mild, damp coolness that should easily burn off by nine.
He had memorized the route on Google Maps the night before—an uninterrupted one-mile walk from the quiet residential street of the Airbnb right to the heart of the campus.
He enjoyed the stillness of the sleeping neighborhood, whistling quietly to himself, sniffing as he savored the new scents and scenery. Out here in the dark, he wasn't a project manager or husband or a dad. He was completely off the clock.
The new athletic center sat at the edge of the campus quad. It was a sprawling, modern building of dark steel and towering glass windows. Matt stopped on the concrete walkway, resting his hands on his hips as he looked up at the facade.
Way too much southern exposure, he thought, shaking his head slightly. The solar heat gain is gonna be a bear to cool.
But heck, you couldn’t deny it made for a gorgeous building.
He shrugged it off with a cheerful sigh and stepped up to the heavy glass doors. The lobby inside was pitch black. Taped to the glass at eye level were bright flyers: WELCOME FAMILIES! and Parents Weekend Athletic Open House: 9 AM - 2 PM.
He’d be gone long before the crowds arrived.
Matt pulled the plastic fob from his pocket and tapped it against the black scanner mounted to the brick.
It gave a quick electronic chirp. The light flashed green and the magnetic lock disengaged with a satisfying clack. Matt pushed the door open and stepped inside, letting it swing shut and lock behind him.
He was completely alone.
As he passed the reception desk, the motion sensors caught his movement. Row by row, the bays of LED lights clicked to life, illuminating a pristine, sprawling strength-training facility.
Matt took a deep, appreciative breath.
“Well, aren’t you something?” he asked the empty room.
He got right to it, walking the floor, humming The A-Team theme under his breath. He checked the brand of the squat racks, running a thumb over the powder-coated steel, inspecting the welds. He pushed his fingers into the shock-absorbing mats, testing them, then nodding approvingly at their thickness. There were no shortcuts here.
Caleb’s tuition didn’t seem like a bad investment.
Satisfied, Matt dropped his water bottle by a flat bench in the corner and got to work.
He started his warm-up, moving through a series of stretches to loosen up his broad shoulders and chest. At his age, he couldn't just jump into the heavy plates; he had to properly prime the engine.
Once he was warm, he dropped onto the flat bench and started light, knocking out a quick set of presses with just the 45-pound bar to grease the groove. Then he started loading the plates.
One pair of 45s. Then two. Then three.
The clatter of weights echoed sharply in the quiet, empty room. To Matt, it was the best kind of morning music.
By 5:00 A.M., he was deep in the zone. A sheen of sweat coated his skin, dampening the cotton of his cutoff shirt and making it cling to his chest and his abs. When he looked down, he could count them—one, two, three, four, five, six. Not bad for a middle-aged dad.
At six-foot-three, Matt knew he’d be an absolute scarecrow if he didn't put in the daily work. But years of dedicated lifting had packed muscle high on his chest and broadened his shoulders, tapering sharply down to lean hips and a narrow waist.
The blond hair on his arms darkened with moisture. He settled back onto the bench, steady and strong, unracking 315 pounds of iron.
He took a deep breath, planted his squeaking dad sneakers firmly on the rubber floor, and lowered the iron smoothly to his sternum. He drove it back up flawlessly, the dense muscle of his high chest and broad shoulders straining under the weight.
He racked the bar with a heavy bang that echoed off the high ceilings. Matt sat up and blew out a breath, his chest expanding as he inhaled again, and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm.
Just as the metallic ringing of the barbell began to fade, a new sound cut through the quiet room.
The heavy glass doors at the front of the facility unlatched with an electronic chirp.
Chapter 2: The Spotter
A shadow stepped out of the darkness and into the bright gym lights.
It was a guy in a grey university athletics t-shirt, dark mesh shorts, and a worn baseball cap, carrying a canvas duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Even from a little way off, Matt could tell he had a sturdy build with comfortable, settled muscle. Stepping closer, Matt saw his ears poked out a bit, giving his face a boyish, approachable look.
He didn’t seem annoyed or territorial about someone else being in the gym so early. Instead, when he spotted Matt standing by the loaded flat bench, his face broke into a wide grin.
“Morning!” the guy called out, his voice booming with a slight twang across the rubber floor. “Five-thirty AM and you’re already benching three plates! Love it! I thought I was the only crazy one.”
Matt felt his smile slide easily into place. He stepped away from the rack, wiping his sweating palms on his shorts. “Morning. Been at it for half an hour. I was starting to wonder if everyone sleeps in around here.”
The guy laughed as he closed the distance between them. “Hey, I already put in three miles on the track. Give a guy a break."
He stuck out a calloused hand, reaching up with his free one to pull off his cap, revealing messy, sun-bleached blond hair that was just starting to thin at the front. Up close, Matt noticed the deep laugh lines around his bright eyes.
“Milo,” he introduced himself. His grip was firm and warm. “Assistant coach for the crew team. The rowers don’t hit the water till eight. I like to sneak in here to get my heavy sets out of the way before sunup.”
They both took a breath to speak at once.
“Early bird gets the flat bench,” they said in perfect unison.
Milo’s eyes went wide for a split second before he tipped his head back and let out a loud, barking laugh. Matt couldn’t help but chuckle along, instantly charmed by the mirrored dad-energy.
“Great minds,” Milo said, beaming. His face, neck, and thick arms were deeply tanned—the baked-in leather hide of a coach who spent his days standing out on the water.
“Matt,” Matt replied, returning the solid handshake. "Up here for Parents Weekend. Just trying to get the engine running early. It's too nice of a day to waste sleeping in."
It was always nice to click with a stranger.
Milo pulled his cap back on, settling the brim in place.
"One of your RAs was nice enough to hook me up with a fob," Matt added, tapping the pocket of his shorts.
Milo’s eyes flicked to Matt’s broad chest, taking in the faded cutoff shirt, the sheen of sweat, and the long, powerful muscle of his thighs. His cheerful smile didn't waver, but shifted into an appreciative smirk.
“Well, whoever he is, he deserves a raise,” Milo laughed, still looking down. “For the hookup.”
He dropped his duffel onto the bench next to Matt’s water bottle and planted his hands on his hips. He glanced around the sprawling, empty gym, taking in the rows of open equipment, then looked back at Matt.
"Look, there’s about twenty open power racks in here, but do you mind if I partner up with you? I always push harder with a spotter."
“Thought you’d never ask,” Matt agreed. “Absolutely.”
While Milo took a few minutes to run through some stretches, loosening up his thick shoulders, Matt got to work on the rack. He stripped the heavy 45s off the bar, leaving a more manageable 225 pounds, then unpinned the J-hooks, dropping them down a notch to accommodate Milo's slightly shorter reach.
Milo rolled his shoulders. "Alright, let's blow the dust out of the carburetor."
He dropped flat onto his back on the bench, planting his feet firmly on the rubber floor. His calloused hands settled securely against the knurling. Matt stepped in close behind his head, leaning over him. Above him, Matt could smell the clean scent of morning soap mixed with the fresh sweat already beading on Milo's neck.
"Smelling fresh for five A.M., coach," Matt said with an easy grin.
Milo chuckled, his chest expanding under the grey t-shirt. "Irish Spring. Wakes me up."
"Alright, nice and steady," Matt encouraged, his hands hovering just under the iron bar. "I’m ready for you."
Milo took a deep breath, unracked the weight, and lowered the iron smoothly to his chest. He drove it back up fast.
"Good pace," Matt praised, watching the coach’s muscle bunch and flex. "Keep it up."
Milo knocked out eight flawless reps. On the final rep, Milo’s breath hitched slightly. His triceps trembled as he fought gravity, but Matt’s hands stayed right there, perfectly shadowing the bar.
"Push, push, push. Train it to maintain it, coach!" Matt urged, right until Milo racked the weight with a heavy, metallic clack.
Milo sat up from the bench. His chest was heaving, the wet grey t-shirt clinging to his torso. He blew out a long breath and wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand, blinking but looking incredibly satisfied.
“Feels good,” Milo panted. A huge grin spread across his mug. "Having a good spotter sure changes things."
He clapped his hands together with a loud smack that rebounded off the ceiling. His bright eyes locked onto Matt’s. It was the look of a guy who liked the work and liked the company of another man even more.
"Alright, Matt," Milo said, stepping back to give him the floor. "Let's see what you've got."
Matt looked Milo up and down, taking in the coach's sturdy, capable build. A slow, easy grin spread beneath his mustache.
He stepped back to the rack and grabbed a 45-pound plate, sliding it onto the bar with a ringing clash.
“If you want to see what I’ve got, coach,” Matt said, “you’re on.”
Chapter 3: The Locker Room
By seven, the magic of the empty gym had dissipated.
The heavy glass doors at the front of the facility were propped wide open, and the quiet weight room had filled with the noise of arriving undergrads—the chatter, the squeak of cross-trainers, the clang of iron plates.
Matt and Milo finished stripping the last 45-pound plates off the bar, working smoothly together. Without a word, they made sure to spray the equipment, dry it off, and re-rack every plate in perfect, descending order.
They were both soaked, pleasantly spent from an hour and a half of heavy lifting.
Milo grabbed his canvas duffel from the bench. He pulled off his faded cap, pushed his wet, messy blond hair back, then pulled the cap firmly back on. He glanced at a group of young guys loudly claiming the nearby racks.
“Morning rush,” he muttered under his breath, with a good-natured sigh. “Look—the main locker room’s going to be a zoo. But I’ve got staff access down the hall. It’s more private. You in?”
Matt hadn’t brought a towel or a change of clothes, fully planning to shower back at the Airbnb. But he was never one to let minor details stand in the way of making a new friend.
He grabbed his water bottle, forcing his eyes up from Milo’s pumped chest to meet his gaze. “Can’t say no to a free upgrade, coach. Lead the way.”
Milo led him out of the weight room and down a quiet corridor, far away from the echoing noise of the main floor. Matt followed close behind, admiring the steady bounce of Milo’s glutes in his mesh shorts.
Milo stopped at a brushed-steel door marked STAFF ONLY. He tapped his card against the black reader, and pushed it open.
The staff locker room was dimmer, quieter than the gym, lined with dark laminate-covered lockers. There were two benches, four shower stalls with frosted doors, a set of sinks, and stacks of plush, white towels.
It was just the two of them again.
Milo set his key card on the edge of the sink and turned. For a second they just looked at each other in the quiet.
Milo reached down and grabbed the hem of his wet t-shirt. He pulled it up and over his head in one quick motion and tossed it aside.
Matt paused, water bottle halfway to his mouth.
Milo’s face, neck, and arms were deeply tanned from days out on the water, but beneath the collar and sleeve lines, his torso was milky white, untouched by the sun. His pumped chest was broad and thick with heavy pecs, his stomach carved into ridges. From shoulder caps to shorts, he looked like he’d been sculpted from smooth, polished marble.
Matt let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Holy smokes. They ought to put that in a museum." A terrible, irresistible dad-joke grin spread under his mustache. "Milo DeVenus."
Milo let out a booming laugh, eating up the cheesy line. "Oh, that is awful. But I'll take it." He rubbed the back of his neck as he blushed, his pecs working as he did. "Farmer tan’s a professional hazard on the water." He let his eyes flick up to Matt’s. "Your turn."
Matt pulled the damp cutoff shirt over his head. His pecs were swollen, sitting high with a post-workout pump. The blond hair on his chest was darker with sweat, making the line down his abs extra sharp. He let the damp shirt drop to the bench.
Milo’s cheerful energy shifted into downright awe. He stared openly at the hairy, engorged spread of Matt’s chest, eyes wide.
“Hot damn,” he breathed. “Great tits, Matt. I mean… look at those things!”
Matt let out a bashful chuckle. A warm flush hit his cheeks. He wasn't used to such blunt praise, but he certainly wasn't complaining.
Milo didn't hesitate. He closed right in, his calloused hands eagerly latching onto Matt’s high pecs, thumbs grazing the rust-colored nipples. “Fuck, you’re built.”
Matt waved off the compliment with a modest grin, but immediately returned the favor, his large hands cupping Milo's pale, heavy chest. The skin was smooth, the nipples pink.
They stood there for a hot minute, a grinning mutual admiration society, thumbing each other's tits and laughing under their breath.
Milo pushed Matt’s right arm up and back, exposing the wet blond hair of his pit. He leaned in close, taking a deep, unapologetic sniff of the post-workout sweat—an animalistic greeting that made perfect sense to both of them. He dragged the flat of his tongue right through the damp hair, tasting the salt.
Matt let out a low sigh, keeping his arm proudly raised for the coach.
Milo pulled back just enough to look up. Their eyes locked. The shared, heated look that passed between them was an instant, unspoken trigger.
Milo swallowed hard, his eyes clear. “I sure would like you to fuck me.”
A wide smile spread on Matt’s face at the direct, unashamed request for a good time.
He glanced down at the dive watch strapped to his bare wrist, making a quick, mental calculation of his morning.
“I've got about twenty minutes before I need to be anywhere,” Matt grinned, his breath coming short.
They both nodded to the other and reached down in perfect sync to shove their shorts down. Matt’s liner caught on his ankle, leaving him hopping on one foot while leaning against the metal lockers to wrestle the fabric over his chunky dad sneakers.
"Easy, big guy!" Milo laughed, bouncing around on his own. The coach braced one hand on a locker for balance, yanking his mesh shorts and briefs over his sneakers with the same frantic rush.
Once they were both completely bare, their mouths clashed, all lips and teeth and eager tongues. They broke away after a minute, panting and beaming at each other, shoes planted on the floor.
Milo’s eyes dropped to Matt’s thick cock standing at absolute attention from its red-gold base, veiny and twitching against his stomach. Milo’s cock rested beside it, pale, uncut, thickest at the middle and rigid.
When they looked up again, their heads tilted for another hot, sloppy kiss, Matt’s hands tangling in Milo’s hair, knocking his cap to the floor as they practically tackled each other.
Chapter 4: Chest Day
Breaking the messy kiss, Milo turned to his bag, grabbing a plastic bottle of clear sports massage oil from it. "Best friction slick on the market."
"Sounds great, coach," Matt said under his breath.
Milo dropped right back onto the wooden bench, spread his dense thighs wide, and squirted a puddle of oil directly into his palm. He slapped it to his taint and began to work it into the hole.
Matt stood right between the coach's spread knees, one hand eagerly stroking his own length as he watched the show. It was beautiful.
Milo’s two fingers worked the oil in with completely unashamed enthusiasm, his bright eyes darting up to meet Matt's.
"Man, I've been wanting you to do this since you threw that third plate on the bar," Milo panted. He pulled his fingers free and held his slick hand out.
Matt stepped right into the V of the coach’s legs, practically vibrating with anticipation of getting in that body. Milo grabbed Matt’s thick cock, coating the shaft in the warm oil in two fast strokes, palming the head in a way that made Matt's hips jerk forward.
"Alright," Milo gasped, dropping flat onto his back on the wood and pulling his thick knees back toward his chest to open himself completely. "Bring it in!"
Matt didn't need to be told twice. He straddled the bench, bracing his squeaky sneakers firmly on the rubber floor for traction. He positioned his cock right at the pink hole and shoved his hips forward.
Milo let out a loud exhale as the thick cock breached him. The stretch was intense, but Matt didn't stop, sinking all the way until he bottomed out, his balls hitting with a fleshy clap.
"Oh fuck," Matt groaned, the rush visible on his face as he felt the intense heat and squeeze of Milo's hole tight.
"Give me a second," Milo panted, shifting his position. The shift from pressure to pleasure was plain as his eyes softened and his lips parted. “Oh fuck yeah. Do it.”
Matt pulled back, the shaft dragging deliciously against the slick ring of muscle, and drove in again. Then again, and again, beginning to lose himself.
Milo’s thighs instinctively wrapped around Matt’s lean waist, locking at the ankles to pull the taller man in tight. Matt planted his large hands flat on the bench on either side of the coach's hips to anchor his weight.
"That's it!" Milo laughed, a breathless sound that bounced off the lockers. “Holy fuck!”
They found their rhythm almost instantly—pure, eager friction. Matt’s long, powerful legs acted like pistons. He grunted with every thrust and his swinging balls smacked against Milo's ass. The wooden bench creaked loudly under them.
"Get over here," Milo demanded, reaching up to grab the back of Matt's broad, bare neck.
He hauled the taller man down, pulling him chest-to-chest. They fucked like that, kissing clumsily and eagerly with open mouths and sliding tongues, their noses bumping, and sweat building. They smiled too hard to get the angle right.
Suddenly, Milo planted his hands flat on Matt’s hips, stopping him and pushing back.
“Too much?” Matt asked.
"Nope," Milo panted, blinking. "Let me get on top. Let me get on top."
Matt pulled out with a wet pop and backed off. He dropped flat onto his back on the bench behind him, spreading his long legs wide and planting his feet.
Milo scrambled over, straddling Matt's hips. He grabbed Matt's slick, stiff cock, lined it up under himself, and sank his milky-white torso down onto it in one long slide.
"Oh fuhhhhk!" Milo groaned, throwing his head back as he bottomed out.
The coach started riding Matt immediately, setting a frantic pace. Matt reached up, grabbing handfuls of Milo's bouncing, pale pecs, squeezing the muscle as he thrust his hips up to meet every single drop. The visual was spectacular—the coach's sun-baked arms framing his pale, sweat-slicked core.
Every thrust sent a jolt of pure, high-octane stimulation straight to Matt's center. The intense physical exertion and the tight hold on his cock locked him entirely into the moment.
Milo reached down to wrap his calloused hand around his own thick cock. He started jacking himself in time with the frantic ride, as Matt caught his hips, thumbs pushing into the pale flesh.
"Oh man," Milo gasped, his grin turning desperate as he pumped his fist faster. "I'm right there. I'm going!"
"Fucking do it!" Matt boomed, driving his hips up into the coach as hard as he could. “Cum on my tits.”
The words set Milo over the edge. He looked down, wild-eyed, and aimed his fat cock. His whole body tensed as he shot thick ropes straight off his fist, splattering across Matt's tan chest, catching in the blond fur, hot and white.
The tight, pulsing squeeze of Milo's climax clamped down on Matt's cock like a vice. In the moment, it was the best thing Matt had ever felt.
A rush flooded Matt's system. He let out a loud, groaning roar, and his hips bucked upward as he emptied himself deep inside the coach in long pulses. He came so hard his legs shook and his vision whited out, filling Milo with everything he had.
Milo dropped forward, burying his face in the sweaty crook of Matt's neck. They were both heaving for breath, slick with oil and sweat and cum, their hearts hammering furiously against each other's ribs.
Milo’s laugh vibrated right into Matt's collarbone. "Holy shit. We gotta get you out of here."
Matt chuckled happily into the coach's sun-bleached hair. He swiped a hand across his own cum-spattered chest, in awe of everything, even the plain white ceiling. "Okay, okay."
Milo pulled off of Matt’s softening cock and they stumbled into the frosted shower stall together, still laughing like a couple of kid brothers. Milo suddenly stopped, looking down.
"Ah, shoot. Shoes. Shoes."
They looked down together. Gigglings, they reached between each other's legs to unlace and untie the knots. Shoes came flying out of the stall, followed by sweaty socks kicked off into the corner. Milo flipped on the water and they both wiggled their bare toes under the warm spray with a shared sigh of relief.
They made quick work of soaping each other down, playfully scrubbing the thick oil and cum out of Milo’s cleft and Matt's chest hair and rinsing off.
By the time they stepped out and dried off with the plush staff towels, Matt packed away the chaotic heavy-breathing guy on the bench, his dependable dad-persona shifting into place.
Milo reached back into his open duffel bag, wordlessly pulling out a spare, folded university crew t-shirt, and tossed it to Matt. “Trade you.”
Matt caught it. He held the soft cotton up, giving it a quick, appreciative sniff—clean laundry and Irish Spring. “Thanks,” he said—before pulling it over his own broad chest, happily leaving his sweaty cutoff behind.
“Be here tomorrow,” Milo said, his face split by a big grin. ”If you want to come back.”
"Maybe," Matt beamed, smoothing the borrowed shirt over his pecs. "Depends if the missus lets me off-leash again."
They left the staff locker room the same way they came in—Milo locking the heavy brushed-steel door behind them, both of them looking like two ordinary guys who had simply used a quieter place to clean up after a heavy chest day.
Matt looked up at the wall clock: 7:45.
So much for twenty minutes.
He clapped Milo once on the shoulder, the exact same friendly slap he’d give any guy he’d just lifted with.
"Thanks for the spot."
Milo’s mouth tipped up into a deeply appreciative grin. "Anytime."
Chapter 5: The Itinerary
By the time Matt pushed through the glass doors of the student union hall, there was a literal buzz of Parents Weekend energy—dads in university sweatshirts, tired students, and moms organizing schedules over their itinerary maps.
Matt barely noticed. He was starving.
The brisk, one-mile walk back to the empty Airbnb for a change of clothes had only added to the deficit. Between the heavy bench presses and the hard fuck, he was completely emptied out. His chest and shoulders ached from the workout, and his stomach let out a hollow rumble. But beneath his fresh cargo shorts and clean polo, his cock felt thoroughly, happily spent.
He scanned over the heads of the crowd and spotted Erin and Chloe holding down a corner booth by the windows.
He gave them a quick two-finger salute and made a beeline for the food service.
Ten minutes later, he slid into the booth opposite Erin and Chloe. His tray was loaded with a double-stacked egg, sausage, and cheese sandwich, a mountain of scrambled eggs, and a large black coffee.
Erin stopped mid-sentence, watching him set down the feast. "We were starting to think you got lost in the weight room, Matthew."
"Just lost track of time on the bench press, hon," Matt beamed, completely unbothered as he picked up his fork.
Chloe eyed him wolfishly devouring his meal. “I thought you were holding out for eggs benedict.”
“Dining hall was fresh out of hollandaise,” Matt rumbled, without a pause in his eating. He gave a wink to his daughter. “This’ll do just fine. How was Pilates?”
As Erin and Chloe eagerly filled him in on the brutal routine their favorite trainer had just put them through, Matt picked up the massive sandwich. He took a bite, blissfully chewing. He reached across the table with his free hand and smoothly plucked a crisp strip of bacon right off Erin's plate.
Erin sighed, a fond, exasperated smile on her lips. "Matt, I honestly don't know where you put it all. You eat like a teenager and you wear a thirty inch waist."
Matt gulped and sipped his coffee. “Takes a lot of fuel to keep the engine running. Heavy chest day. Burned a lot of calories.”
He felt the phantom pressure of Milo's rough hands on his swollen pecs growing more faint.
"Sorry we're late!"
Matt looked up as Caleb and Hayden navigated through the maze of tables to join them.
Caleb looked appropriately sleep-deprived, his hair sticking up in the back. He was absentmindedly spinning his dorm keys around his finger—a constant, low-level fidget. Hayden trailed a step behind him, wearing an oversized hoodie, his dark mullet messy.
"Morning, boys!" Matt boomed cheerfully. He slid over in the booth to make room. "Grab a seat. You guys get enough to eat?"
"Yeah, we grabbed bagels," Caleb yawned, sliding in next to Matt.
Hayden slipped into the opposite side of the booth next to Chloe, keeping his elbows tucked against his sides.
"Where’s your mom this morning, Hayden?" Erin asked, looking behind him.
"Oh, she actually gets these migraines," Hayden said, his voice quiet. "She's sleeping in a little bit at the hotel."
"Well, that's a shame," Erin said warmly. "You know you’re welcome to hang out with us until she’s feeling better. And you’re both joining us for dinner tonight. I made reservations for six, so I won't take no for an answer."
Hayden offered a polite nod. "Thanks, Mrs. D."
"So, what's the punch list for today?" Matt asked, wiping his hands on a napkin.
Erin pulled the glossy Parents Weekend itinerary from her purse, flattening it on the table. "Okay, so the Chancellor's reception is at ten."
"Got it," Matt nodded, licking the coffee from his mustache.
"After that," Caleb chimed in, "is the crew regatta down by the river. It’s actually a huge deal this year. We’re racing against a couple of the neighboring state schools."
Chloe sat up a little straighter, suddenly much more interested in the conversation. "Oh, we are definitely going to that. Crew guys are literally the hottest. That's just sexy science."
Caleb groaned loudly, dropping his head into his hands. "Gross, Chloe."
Matt’s gaze flicked up, a slow, deeply amused grin tugging at the corner of his mustache. He thought about a thick, milky-white chest and bright eyes under a faded baseball cap, and the relief of spilling inside the coach.
And then as quickly as it rose up, the memory faded.
"They definitely put the work in," he agreed, pushing his tray away. "I'd really like to see the coaches in action."
Chloe shot him a withering look. "Dad, do not go down there and try to talk to the coaches about their macros."
"Hey, I'm just appreciating the athletics," Matt chuckled.
Erin didn't look up from the itinerary. "Chloe, you know your father is outgoing. I swear, when he meets the right man it’s like two Labrador retrievers sniffing each other's rear ends, and—boom—instant friends."
Chloe and Caleb both snapped their heads up. "Mom! Gross!"
Matt kept his mouth shut and casually reached for his coffee mug, shifting his weight.
As he did, his gaze flicked across the table. Hayden’s eyes were visibly tracing the line of his pecs pressing against the cotton of his shirt, before his gaze dropped to the thick, blond-furred forearm resting on the table.
Matt set his mug down and paused, catching Hayden looking directly at him.
A sudden, unexpected rush of heat hit Matt's cheeks, a flicker of genuine shyness warming his face at being so openly admired by his son's quiet roommate.
Hayden’s eyes went wide, completely caught in the act. He quickly dropped his gaze to his lap, suddenly very interested in the table laminate.
"Matthew," Erin said, tapping the printed itinerary and completely oblivious to the exchange. "If you're done eating, finish your coffee. We've got a lot of ground to cover."
Matt didn't need to be told twice. He picked his mug back up and drained the last of the dark roast, the faint warmth still lingering on his cheeks as his tongue wiped a stray drop from his blond mustache.
He set the empty mug on his pushed-away tray with a satisfying thud, entirely looking forward to the rest of his day.
END, BOOK TWO OF FIVE
Thanks for reading. The remaining installments of Parents Weekend will be released over the next few Saturdays. I hope you'll return to see how Matt's weekend plays out. Next up: dinner at the steakhouse.
If you enjoyed this story, consider visiting the author's website.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
