Page 86 of Muscle Cub

Gunner ignored them. “We talked about black tights or leggings, but it’s gonna be hot in the bar. The coat and hat make the look, so you can’t lose those. But I’m thinking, you’ve got great legs, why not ditch pants altogether and go with a black jock?” He tilted his head, appraised me, and made a circling gesture toward my crotch. “You’re not, by any chance, wearing one right now, are you?”

I grimaced. “I don’t suppose black boxer briefs would work?” It was probably a hopeless suggestion.

Gunner made a skeptical noise. “No worries. You can have one of mine.” He must have seen me cringe because he hastened to add, “I have new ones still in their packaging. I tend to go through them.”

“Cool,” I murmured. I’d never worn a jockstrap as clothing. At least the tails would cover my ass.

“So beyond the costume, what about a bit of a makeover?”

“What did you have in mind?” I asked hesitantly.

“Your mustache has a great shape. With a little wax, we could curl the tips. It’d be epic. But it would have more impact without the full beard.” Gunner turned to Hank. “Don’t you think he could rock a ’stache?”

Hank nodded. “Yeah. Assuming he wants to do it.”

I stroked my chin self-consciously. Austin had said he loved mustaches, and I could grow my beard again in ten days if I hated it. I shrugged. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

“Excellent! How would you feel about going bald?” Gunner shook his head. “Sorry. Bad word choice. I meant, shaving it off.”

My cheeks flushed. Fuck. I was that dude, the one clinging to his thinning hair, trying to run out the clock with a crewcut.

Hank interjected. “You don’t have to go along with him. Gunner does this to everybody. Trust me, we’ve already disappointed him with our trapeze artist looks.”

Albie and Kevin raised their cups, acknowledging their part in it.

“Trapeze artists,” Gunner muttered, rolling his eyes. “Y’all look like a bunch of half-dressed superheroes.” To me, he said, “But he’s right. Don’t let me pressure you.”

“No, no. My barber’s suggested it a few times. Less kindly than you. I’ve considered it.”

“You could definitely pull it off. You have a great head shape. I’ve got some clippers in the bathhouse next door. We could run over there real quick before Austin gets here,” Gunner said in a tempting tone. “Might be fun to surprise him.”

I blew out a breath. I hadn’t done much to surprise Austin, and he’d accused me of coming from a place of no. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Gunner grinned, excited.

“Yeah. Why not?”

Knowing how Gunner felt about his shoes, I let him carry the boots and the hat box, and I followed with the tailcoat and jock. The staff bathhouse was smaller than the one down at the pool complex and only had basic amenities—sinks, toilet stalls, a small changing area, and a communal shower—but, as with all the public buildings on the property, the rustic materials were thoughtfully used.

We had the place to ourselves.

Gunner produced a cordless trimmer and a salon cape from a set of lockers. After removing my T-shirt and lanyard, I sat on the wooden bench in front of him and let him fasten the cape around my neck.

This was a trust exercise. I couldn’t stop bouncing my knee.

Gunner put his hand on my shoulder. “If you’re gonna do this, do it for you, okay?”

“I am.”

He turned on the clippers and tipped my head forward. Bits of my hair skittered down the cape. It was over in minutes. He paused to brush the loose hair off my neck, then came around to face me. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at me through his false lashes. “How long has it been since you’ve seen yourself without a beard?”

“Um. Twenty years?”

“No shit. Wow.” He grinned. “This is gonna be fun.”

He spent a lot more time buzzing my cheeks and trimming my mustache. Finally, he whipped off the cape, and shook it out with a flourish.

I walked over to the sinks, resisting the urge to run to the nearest mirror because I didn't want Gunner to know how truly vain I was. I was mostly concerned with looking like I was trying to be someone I wasn’t.