6. Jagger

Jagger

" S et up in our usual spot?" I ask Cam as we head into the empty gym Monday morning.

"Yeah, that's where the lighting is best."

I make my way to the far side of the room, where the soft light from the window seems to counter the harsh glare of the fluorescent bulbs in the weight room.

Summer mornings are our favorite time for working out and making videos. It's quiet and still smells faintly of disinfectant rather than sweaty bodies. Bonus, the lack of people to heat up the place makes the temperature cooler—sometimes even cold—which makes my nipples perk up. For some reason videos get more views when my nipples are hard, and more views equals more money.

I'm still hoping to make the big bucks in the NFL, but if I don't go that far, I'm hoping these videos will give me a solid nest egg. Either that, or help me land a job with a professional team as a trainer.

"What'd you have in mind for the video?" Cam asks as he sets up this little tripod thingy he got so he doesn't have to be responsible for holding the phone steady.

"I was thinking of some exercises that would hit all the major muscle groups at the same time. Arms, legs and core." I grab a Bosu ball with one hand and a medicine ball with the other, then set up the Bosu so the curved side of the half-moon shape is on the ground. Dropping to the floor, I place my hands on opposite sides of the Bosu, distributing my weight evenly so it doesn't wobble underneath me, and start jamming out push-ups so my arms will look more cut in the video.

"Stretch first." Cam shoots me a warning look from where he's playing with the settings on the phone.

I kneel and point to the Bosu. "This is a warm-up."

"Warm-ups come after stretching."

I flip him off—I rarely cut corners and hate being called out when I do—and roll onto my back to go through the stretching routine coach makes us do. Cam joins me since he'll lift with me after we shoot the video, and when we're done, he takes his place behind the camera while I get in position by the equipment.

"Shirt off," he reminds me since I'm supposed to be showing off my athletic shorts in this video.

I whip the shirt over my head and bend over to pick up the medicine ball, but before I can reach my full height Cam is standing in front of me, his large hands braced on my hips, and my spine goes rigid. It's not the first time he's had his hands on me, but it's the first time in memory I haven't been able to breathe through the contact, and it catches me so off guard I actually think I'd stumble if he weren't holding me in place.

What the hell?

I know I've been a little off-kilter since learning he's bi. And it didn't help that I discovered I may have a little undefined curiosity of my own at the same time, but his touch has never left me breathless. Wincing in laughter or pain, sure. But breathless? Never.

"You can't film like this, Kitcat." A finger slips under the waistband of my shorts near my left hip, leaving a trail of sparks as it slides toward the right, and the nipples that had warmed during my stretches perk right back up as a shiver travels up my spine.

"Cold?" Cameron asks as he rights the waistband of my shorts so you can read the label on them.

The ten-pound ball in my hands feels like a hundred as I try to keep my arms steady. "Just a little." Why am I whispering? And why did I say I'm cold when I'm feeling like I might overheat?

Cam takes the medicine ball out of my hands. "Do your pushups. That'll get your temperature back up."

I'm not sure it needs to go any higher, but I do as he says, pumping out a few pushups as he stands over me. At least that snaps me out of whatever strange daze I'd been on the verge of falling into.

I pop up and take the medicine ball as Cam goes back behind the camera, and on his signal, I start my monologue. As always, I give a brief explanation of what I'm going to demonstrate and why, so viewers know the purpose of the exercise. Then I step on the Bosu and find my balance point, using my core muscles to hold steady as I work my legs by squatting low, and my arms by holding the weighted ball in front of me.

Since I have several exercises I can do with this same equipment, and several pairs of shorts to showcase, we stop recording between each exercise so I can change. It's when I'm pulling on my third pair of shorts that I notice Cam standing at the ready, hands on his hips, exactly the way he does on the field while he's waiting for Coach to call in the play.

The familiar pose takes me on a trip down memory lane as I recall years and years of playing together, and how it always calms me to see him standing out there with me.

Cameron never aspired to play football. He started because of me, when I needed an outlet for the aggression I felt about my dad ditching us. He still plays because of me, and came to Colorado since that was my first choice.

I never asked him to do any of that, he just did. And I know I should tell him he doesn't have to do everything I want to do, but I like having him by my side. His constant presence is so normal I'm not sure I know how to function without it. There's a significant part of me that hopes I'll never have to.

Cam clears his throat, a sign I'm taking too long, so I step into the new shorts and look up to find him standing behind the camera, waiting for me in his classic are we doing this stance that I can spot from a mile away, hip cocked just slightly in a way that makes his ass seem especially round.

Wait.

WTF?

Did I just ogle my best friend's ass?

That can't be right. I'm not even an ass guy—I prefer tits. I must've had something else on my mind and just happened to look over at Cam, who was sort of pushing his ass out, standing like that. I have been going down the prostate rabbit hole recently, so I must've subconsciously been thinking about that without paying attention to where my eyes were wandering.

No biggie. It was an accident. I can totally look at Cam's ass without—

Nope. It's enticingly round.

I force my wandering eyes to the floor and finish pulling up my shorts, muttering my next spiel aloud so he can call me out for being distracted by what I'm going to record instead of the fact his ass snagged my attention. Since I resume my spot in front of the Bosu without comment, it must work.

"This next exercise is a modified deadlift that will hit the glutes instead of the quads," I begin when he gives me the signal. "Step onto the ball, legs spread for balance, and a slight bend in the knee. Hold your core tight as you bend forward and squeeze those glutes as you rise back to standing." I demonstrate as I talk. "But don't just bend over, push that ass out behind you to keep your center of gravity stable on the Bosu or your weight will pitch forward. Really show that thing off like you're twerking in a music video, or you want someone to give it a nice, firm smack."

My words register right as I catch sight of Cam's tight, round ass in my peripheral, and I realize I'm pushing my own butt out like I want someone to take a crack at it. I straighten a little too quickly, throwing off my balance.

"And that's what happens when you don't keep your core tight," I ad lib, engaging my abs to keep from wobbling off the Bosu. "Take it slow and controlled and add weights to hit the arms when you're ready. That'll help you hit all the major muscle groups with this one exercise. See you next time."

Cam stops the recording with an amused grin when I sign off. "Twerking? A nice, firm smack?"

"You got a better way to help viewers understand the posture they need to get the most benefit out of those exercises?"

I swear his dark gaze falls below the waist, but it's back on my eyes so fast I almost wonder if I imagined it.

"No, twerking is the perfect mental image. Your next video should be of you twerking on the Bosu. You know, to demonstrate balance." His smile is downright wicked.

"I'm teaching people how to exercise, not get a job as Magic Mike."

"If football doesn't pan out, dancing could be a good backup," he continues without missing a beat, chocolate eyes twinkling with mirth as he pockets his phone and folds up the tripod. "You've got the ass for it."

This time I know he sneaks a peek. "Were you checking out my ass?"

"I had a camera pointed at it, so…just saying you'd make some good money shaking it."

"Dick." I shove him in the arm.

"You'd probably make money off that too." He dodges me before I can shove him again, running toward the bags we dropped against the wall so he can put the filming equipment away.

"What do you want to work on today?" I ask when he's ready to work out.

"Isn't it chest and back today?"

I'm not sure what it is, but I'll take anything over legs. Something tells me I wouldn't have the concentration for that. "Sounds good."

We head to the bench press and load the bar, and I lie down while Cam stands over me to spot my reps. I always go first so Cam gets a reminder of good form—he has a bad habit of lifting his hips so he isn't isolating his chest when he lifts—although watching me never seems to curb that pattern.

As expected, when it's his turn, I step to the side of the bench to rest my palm on his hip bone, a subtle reminder not to move it. It has the desired effect in the sense he stills beneath my hand, but something else happens too. Something I've never realized before.

I can feel the slight flex of his abs underneath my fingers as they coil with the effort of holding still. Motionless . Even though it's understated, it's powerful, hinting at the strength beneath the surface. And if I look closely, I can see the faint movement. The delicate ripple that travels along the skin poking between the hem of his shirt and his waistband.

It's kind of mesmerizing to watch.

One of the reasons I decided to go into athletic training is because I like the look of muscle. I appreciate the subtle curve of skin pulled taut over the bulges you earn by lifting weights, and I wanted to learn how to hone my body to achieve that look. Not the giant, bulky frame of weightlifters—I'm a wide receiver so I need speed—but the lean, cut physique that allows me to be both nimble and quick.

Given my major, I've got a better idea than most of how hard it is to mold your body to your ideal image. From time to time, I'll see someone in great shape and feel admiration for them. I know the work they must put into themselves, and I can appreciate that about people. But I can't recall ever being mesmerized by seeing or feeling muscles move. Yet, I'm so enthralled, Cam has to shout at me to help him rack the bar when he's done with his set.

"What the hell, man?" he asks.

"Abs." I swallow hard. "I'm sorry, I was thinking of ab exercises." It's close enough to the truth.

I force myself to focus after that, and as the weight room fills and the metallic clank of weights echoes around us, my thoughts never stray from the task at hand. Until Cam gets a text as we're toweling off, and I see Aiden on the screen.

My reaction is visceral.

A restless energy simmers underneath my skin, making my exhausted muscles feel stiff from the effort of trying to hide my agitation. I actually feel the scowl overtake my face; jaw hardening, eyes narrowing, lips pursing, and I'm helpless to stop it. Helpless to keep my mind from ranting about the wrongness of Cameron laughing and having a good time with a guy that isn't me. Without me.

Cam texts back, a thoughtful look on his slightly flushed face, and I force my knees into a crouch so I can pretend to root around in my gym bag and avoid looking at him. When he drops his phone in his bag I rise and force myself to speak as evenly as possible, "Ready to head back?"

"Do you mind stopping by the engineering building on the way? Aiden said he'd show me the lab he works in."

"Since when are you interested in computer labs?" I swing my bag over my shoulder and head for the exit, Cam trotting to keep up.

"One of his professors has a team working on a robot. I thought that'd be cool to see."

That would actually be cool, if someone else was the tour guide. But it's clear my best friend already has some sort of rapport with Aiden, and I don't need a front row seat to their evolution from acquaintances to fuck buddies or… whatever else comes next. I don't think I can stomach that.

I know it was my idea for him to give things a shot with Aiden, but I wasn't planning on witnessing it when I made that suggestion. And yeah, I know I've witnessed him with countless women over the years, which makes me a bit of a hypocrite now that the only thing that's changed is the sex of the person in question, but I can't shake the foreboding feeling that comes when I think of the two of them together.

That's not a homophobic thing either—I have zero issue with Cam being attracted to men—I'm just not sure how I feel about him dating one. Not that either of us has actually dated before. Hookups were more our speed, and when we did talk to girls it was mostly about rom coms and who's dating who and whether we like their dresses. It's small talk to get to the bedroom and it didn't mean anything. But talking about football or video games or fucking robots —that's the shit we talk about. It's ours . Not his and Aiden's. And if they talk about meaningful shit and it becomes more…

No. I don't want to go by the damn lab and see those two talk about things that should be reserved for us.

"Maybe some other time. I want to get these videos edited. Did you already send me the clips?"

"Yeah." Cam follows me into the warm mid-morning air. "Want me to give you a lift home?"

"No, I feel like walking." Hopefully that will help me cool down, even if it is already pushing seventy-five degrees before noon.