Page 49 of Sweat

“Well,” I step real close, enough to lean my mouth inches from Rowan’s ear, “More than half the time, I finish inside your body. I’d call that sex.”

“You calling me a bottom bitch, Tommy?”

The heat in Rowan’s eyes is chilling. It sends a shiver down my spine that resonates in a throb of my growing cock.

“Either that or a cum addict,” I tease.

“A cumaholic?”

I snort and plant my hands on his hips, gliding one over his ass. I want him so bad it hurts. My abs flex with how badly I want to grind myself against him.

Rowan’s hand dips between us, palm grazing over my clothed erection. “It’s not my fault you taste so fucking good, baby boy.”

I press my nose to the side of his head and moan into his ear.

Giving my cock a firm squeeze that turns my moan into a whimper, Rowan says, “Get it together. You get a day off when I say you do.”

He parts from me, then puts so much space between us I could scream. It leaves me with two options. Go jerk off in the bathroom or follow Rowan to the pool and let the cool water shrivel my hard-on to something I can swim with. Do I need to even say which one I choose?

The atmosphere in the natatorium is warm, humid and reeks of chlorine. We’re two of only a handful of people here. All but two of the lanes are empty, and there’s just one girl in a Staff t-shirt and short shorts straightening things up around the perimeter of the pool. For her benefit, and the benefit of my pride, I hold my towel so it hides my erection until I think no one is looking, then I fling it onto a bench and dive into the cold, clear water.

When I crest, Rowan tosses me down a pair of goggles before slipping his own on and pencil diving into the open lane beside mine. I nearly laugh at how, even when we’re working out together, we still end up in separate lanes. I guess I’m just a clingy bastard, wanting to be as close to Rowan as possible at all times, but it’s not my fault that his aura is so enticing and his body is so inviting. As Lady Gaga sang, I was born this way.

Shit, I really am gay.

Rowanwarms us up with a steady one-hundred meter swim, then we work a little harder with a manageable ten fifties on the minute. I stick to the technique Rowan taught me. Three strokes for every breath. Chin down, hips up, kick small and fast, stretch long and reach far.

When I start lagging behind a couple seconds, Rowan flips his goggles up and tells me, “Gonna have to pick it up.”

I nod, and I pick it up. Rowan’s right about swimming being the ultimate full-body workout. Before he started bringing me around to the nat, I didn’t know it was possible to sweat so much while submerged in water.

We spend a good forty-five minutes doing laps at various paces and intervals, then we cool down with another lazy one-hundred. And boy is mine lazy. I swim so slowly, I almost sink a few times. By the time I’m back to the gutter, Rowan is sitting on the lip of the deck, legs dangling over the side. I don’t have clearance to ogle at the way his knees are parted and his abs are flexing with each breath, because he’s chatting with the staff girl in the short shorts like they know each other or something.

Don’t be jealous, Tommy.

It would be easier if Rowan would just tell me he’s gay, but that’s not really how it works. Like that dumbass internet quiz said, his identity is something only he can realize for himself. For now, I just have to exist in perpetual anxiety that Rowan might just be a sex fiend, and I’m just his latest fuck buddy.

But what about the night he cried in front of me?

When I get the water out of my ears, I realize Rowan is talking to the girl about soccer. Clinical, like the sports nerd he is, dropping stats on her that are making her eyes glaze over. It’s adorable, actually. Kind of fucking hot.

I lift myself out of the pool with what upper body muscle Rowan allows me to maintain, and I sit my ass on the tiled deck.

“Nowyou,” the girl points down to me, “look like a swimmer. Don’t swim like one, though.”

She and Rowan both giggle at that while my face reddens.I see how it is.

“You think he’s big now, you shoulda seen him a few months ago.” Rowan reaches over and squeezes my shoulder.

“You a starter too?” the girl asks. There’s a Sac State lanyard around her neck where an ID badge dangles. The name on it looks like Sage.

“He will be,” Rowan answers before I can, because I would’ve just said no.

The way she smiles at me reminds me of how Eve did the night I met her, and she flits her wistful gaze from me to Rowan. “Is he single?”

My chest gets tight for a second, wondering what Rowan will say and which of the many options would embarrass me the most. He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone I’m gay, and I trusted him when he said it, but now my anxiety is working on overdrive, second guessing myself.

“He’s single, technically,” Rowan answers in as casual a manner as he would order food at a drive thru, “but he’s preoccupied, if you know what I mean.”

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