Page 47 of Muscle Cub

“Turning this campground over. Recovery days are no joke. I just jogged out here to see if you’d texted me back.”

“Are you at the pole?” When I’d left camp yesterday, I’d seen a guy out there on his phone. It was a bit of a hike.

“I’m literally hanging on the pole.” He giggled. “Maybe I should audition for Big Richards.”

Big Richards—no apostrophe—was a famous male strip club in Atlanta. “You expect me to believe that’s never occurred to you before? With moves like yours?”

“I’m not sure the masses are ready for all this thick, juicy beef coming at ’em. It’s a little too Kung Fu Panda, you know?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The shot of Panda running in slow motion? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen that movie.”

“The cartoon?”

“The Oscar-nominated animated film, sir.” He enunciated each word in a snobbish, locked-jaw voice. “Anyway. Dancing could be a year-round gig, but…”

“Still not much of a long-term plan,” I finished.

He huffed, but there was affection in his voice. “You’re such a total dad.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You hate it, don’t you?”

“I really do.”

“So you don’t want me to call you”—here came that horrendous porn-twink voice again—“Daddy?”

“Oh God!” I could’ve kicked myself for snickering.

“You’re laughing,” he taunted in a singsong voice.

I growled.

“Fine.” He sighed into the phone. A loud, fake, wistful sigh. “Prof it is.”

“Perfect,” I deadpanned.

“I’m coming to town for a gig tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we’re usually off on Wednesdays. That’s when we go into town, do some shopping. Buy a shit ton of snacks for the bunkhouse. Go to a bar we don’t work at. We can ask off for other times if it’s something important. But this week I picked up a substitute teaching spot at Blue Ridge CrossFit.”

“That’s awesome.”

“So you’ll come?”

“Um.” I was glad he couldn’t see my panicked expression. “To the CrossFit gym?” There were always legions of Hemsworth lookalikes and Captain America clones going in and out of that place.

“Yeah. To my class. You said if I subbed in town, you’d come.”

Oh, Dear God. What the fuck could I say? At the bonfire, he’d teased me about not coming to his Morning-After Drill, but maybe he really had been disappointed.

“I’m not implying you need to work out,” Austin said, misreading my hesitation. “You don’t need to change anything about yourself at all. You’d be helping me out. Fitness classes are all about body counts. I’m already gonna lose a bunch of people when the regulars find out their usual trainer’s not gonna be there. And if I want to pick up more classes or get on their schedule permanently, it’s gonna depend on how many people I can draw.”

“I can’t imagine you wouldn’t be able to draw a lot of people.” I really couldn’t. Especially not after having seen all the selfies he’d been tagged in.