Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 140629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 703(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 703(@200wpm)___ 563(@250wpm)___ 469(@300wpm)
Farther down, a corridor led to another room, and the sounds of splashing water and someone’s humming coming from there were Caspian’s cue to hurry before the stranger finished his shower.
He took advantage of being alone and threw his duffel bag to the bench. If he was quick enough, he could avoid meeting anyone here, and get on with his training. He might have to discuss the use of weight machines with a member of staff, but he’d worry about that later. One thing at a time.
Working out wasn’t a competition. He would do his thing and ignore the people who hadn’t let their bodies down, and who’d surely believe he didn’t belong there. But he did, and the bill in his pocket was the proof. He just wished his heart would stop rattling like a cow bell. The lockers reminded him of high school, but he’d grown up since then. If not in size, then in maturity, class, and determination.
He was no longer the short gay kid who used to be mercilessly bullied by a bunch of teen degenerates. He could still recall their mean faces and undeservedly strong arms. Tall like a bunch of trolls, sons of criminals, bikers, and trailer trash, they considered themselves so much better than Caspian just because he didn’t have their brute strength.
Even at university, he’d been christened pocket-rocket as if it was somehow so cute that he was tiny but feisty. Because at his size, he wasn’t a force to be reckoned with. No. He was feisty. Plucky. Spirited.
With silent fury burning his veins, Caspian squeezed the oversized T-shirt that still smelled of Mom’s fabric softener, but he didn’t get to change.
“The ladies' locker room is on the other side,” a low male voice said, and as Caspian froze, the sound of flip flops tapping against damp tiles echoed in his head like a warning.
But while his throat tightened with shame and discomfort, he reminded himself that he’d paid for time spent here, and therefore had every right to be in the locker room, regardless of what some meathead thought.
“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna stare,” Caspian said and spun around, losing his breath when he realized the half-naked man stood closer than he’d thought. And that he wasn’t a random stranger.
It was Gunner Russo.
The object of Caspian’s hate, fear, and fascination all rolled into one big, tattooed body.
But while the Gunner Russo from high school had been a relentless shithead, much taller and stronger than Caspian, the Gunner Russo in front of him was… well, even bigger. At least six-five and ripped as if being dehydrated was his natural state, he had wide shoulders and biceps like bread loaves. His upper body, tattooed with a cacophony of skulls and predator animals, made Caspian’s fight or flight instinct ring.
His hair had been styled into a crew cut, which left nothing to obscure Gunner’s features. And his face wasn’t one people could ignore. Not just because it was enviably symmetrical and belonged on the cover of a sports magazine with its striking dark eyes, and a big nose so unlike Caspian’s button-sized one.
Caspian noticed all those because he remembered Gunner from high school, but what would’ve stood out to a casual observer was the animal skull tattooed over the left half of the ruggedly masculine face. He wasn’t sure whether the outline of bones belonged to a wolf, bear, or some other creature, because regardless of what predator it was, its very presence would’ve made any normal person pause and consider Gunner’s sanity.
Still, in his most secret fantasies Caspian had always cast Gunner as Ares in his personal Pantheon of male Greek gods. The man was that hot.
But Caspian didn’t want to fuck him. He’d have given his left arm to be him.
“You’re already staring. You expect a show or something?” Gunner growled and opened the towel, which had covered his crotch so far.
Caspian should’ve looked away. Not doing so would be suicide.
But he’d wanted to see Gunner Russo’s junk throughout high school, so how was he to deny himself when it was so casually revealed to him? Thick and long like half a baton of French bread, it hung between the broad thighs along with a sac that was twice the size of Caspian’s. Gunner’s naked body was hairy too, with a dense thatch of pubes and dark strands peppering the skin in all the places where Caspian had only a soft dusting.
For all the anger and hate Caspian still harbored for Gunner’s endless bullying in the past, he couldn’t deny that Gunner had grown into a damn fine man who dwarfed him in every way. How different Caspian’s life would have been if he were as tall as Gunner and as muscular as him? Nobody would have bullied him if he had a body like that.