by Jamie Lake
A second later, and he was once again “Luis.” He told himself he’d do this quickly since he had to get up so early and start training, and the last thing he wanted to do was wake up late on his first day. Mason did say he had a two-strikes-you’re-out-rule, and Chris had a feeling he wasn’t joking at all.
Don’t do it, he thought, but try as he may, he wandered on absentmindedly. It had become such an unconscious habit. He couldn’t help but just want to “glance” at his ex’s wall. However, Tim’s page popped up and Chris felt his heart drop.
I’m so fucking happy. It’s so great to finally meet someone who gets you--and treats you like you deserve. Thank God after years with losers, I think I’ve found my match.
He was already dating somebody? Not just dating, head-over-fucking-heels. Tim NEVER talked like that about anybody, much less a “boy bitch”, as he so often referred to Chris when talking to his friends Alec and Justin. The idea infuriated Chris. He was clenching his teeth, breathing heavily. He searched down through the Facebook feed from his friends and found a dozen “congratulations.” comments, but it was Justin and Alec’s comment that made him see red. They had a single-joined Facebook account with obnoxious photos of the two of them kissing. So fake, so obnoxious.
So glad you got rid of pudgy Eeyore. Jase is so much sweeter--and easy on the eyes.
Chris was so angry he thought he wanted to drive over to each of their houses and throw rocks through the windows. Instead, almost uncontrollably, he wrote a comment under “Luis”.
Haha. Congrats. He couldn’t have been that bad. You were with him for years, after all. Right?
He knew he shouldn’t have written anything, but he couldn’t help himself. It only took a few seconds for Tim to reply with his own comment.
You don’t know him. He used to be great, but after a couple years, he was just god-awful, boring, and needy. Sooo needy. I wasted 3 years of my life.
That comment stung like a knife to his chest. He could feel his eyes stinging and he had to stop himself from crying. After all those years together, he really would dog him like that in public? He noticed that Tim set the post so that Chris couldn’t see it under his own name, and here he was, saying this awful shit to this fake name, perfect stranger about the man he once said he loved. That was some fucked-up shit.
Chris paced the floor, feeling like suspending all his Facebook accounts completely, but not before he said one more thing:
Well, you live, you learn. There’s two sides to every story after all.
That’s when Justin and Alec jumped in.
Two sides? Trust us. That guy was such a loser. Tim, I knew you could do so much better than that. We’ve been telling you that for years.
Chris was furious. He felt like spilling all their personal business online, such as writing about how he knew Justin couldn’t get it up anymore, or that Alec always snuck off to go to the bath houses alone and Justin had no clue about it.
That is, until Tim wrote:
Oh, my God. Everybody, this Luis guy is actually Chris. I just checked the IP address of this profile and he made this fake profile months ago to spy on me. That is so typical paranoid, obsessive, pathetic Chris. Bitch. No wonder I left you.
Chris felt his stomach tighten. It got worse with comment after comment of Tim’s catty friends from all over the place chiming in about how fucked up it was what Chris had done. Chris couldn’t sleep the whole night, tossing and turning, thinking about whether he had dug himself to the bottom of the hole. Or how he could possibly climb out.
-------------------- 0 --------------------
CHAPTER 5
The next morning, Chris cracked open his eyes, and it seemed unusually light outside. He felt like shit: he had a pounding headache and immediately remembered all of the stress from the drama the night before. Pain stabbed into the back of his neck from sleeping in the wrong position all evening.
“One hot mess,” he groaned, raising a finger.
His hand fished for his phone to see what time it was, and his blurred vision became instantly clear as his eyelids peeled back in horror.
5:17 AM
Shit. He hoped that Mason was still there, as he grabbed some sweat pants and a t-shirt from the dirty clothes hamper and scrambled to put them and his sneakers on the way out the door. He even left his shoes untied as he leaped and hopped his way down the stairs of his condo and out the front gate.
As he jumped into his car, he looked at his text messages for the address, and he squealed out of the parking lot, rounding the corner down to Mason’s street. Thank God he didn’t live that far away: in fact, he was clearly just on the backside of Chris’s own development; probably within hearing distance of his own back yard. He tried to call him several times on the way there, but he figured it was bad reception as usual.
Chris’s car squealed to a stop, the sides of his tires squeaking against the curb in front of Mason’s little house. As he scrambled to get out, he noticed the garage, full of gym equipment and open to the cool, humid air, but the door was beginning to close.
“Hello?” Chris called.
“I’ll be out in a second,” answered a low, disgruntled voice inside. As the door finished closing, Chris stood waiting in his sweats, feeling awkward. Dogs barked down the street. The thrum of tropical insects, omnipresent even amid the roar of traffic in downtown Escazu, filled the morning air, cool and dewy. The house was a modest stucco split-level with a red-tiled roof. Ferns and small palms were planted all around it, and the lawn was meticulously mowed.
Suddenly, Chris realized: oh my God. Those big picture windows on the side of the house? This was his favorite exhibitionist’s house. He almost ran - mortified that the neighbor would recognize him - but at that moment, the front door opened.
Out stepped the man: it could be none other than his sexy stranger. About six foot even, with broad shoulders, a cut-billed camouflage cap, sunglasses, and a black tank top. Chocolate brown hair fell to his shoulders. He turned, locked the door, and then stood there with one hand in his pocket and the other flipping his keys in his hand.
Mason may have looked like he was appraising Chris through his aviators, but in fact, he was just trying to suppress his irritation. It had been a chaotic mess for him to negotiate a new morning schedule with his ex-girlfriend (who was rigid and intractable at best, and downright malevolent at worst), especially when it came to their daughter. Normally, Mason helped her get ready for school and out the door so that his ex could have a little more time to get ready for her job in the morning, but now he had Chris to work with immediately before that. She knew Mason needed the money, but didn’t really care. Now the best he could do to pacify her anger was to run an errand for her before he had to take their daughter to school; she only needed a few things at the grocery store, and if Chris was going to show up late, he was going to cancel the rest of the session.
He finally walked toward Chris and sized him up: he was a handsome, friendly-looking kid, late twenties at most, but he stood there looking as out of place and awkward as a lost little boy. His long, red-blonde hair and rosy-apple cheeks added to his youthful, almost pretty-boy appearance.
“Mason?” Chris said, “Hey, I’m so sorry.”
“Hey man,” Mason sighed.
Then, Mason realized he recognized him: this was the pervy boy who was always watching him shower. The trainer felt his mood shift drastically. His anger subsided for a moment, and instead he felt a mixture of embarrassment and irritation, but also a little bit of arousal: Chris was undeniably cute. Not that Mason was interested in men. Mason quickly pushed these thoughts out of his mind. He wouldn’t say anything about the shower.
They shook hands, but Mason quickly broke his grasp.
Chris looked at his watch, “I know I’m almost a half an hour late but...”
“Thirty five minutes, actually. I told you how important punctuality is to me,” Mason said flatly, and walked around to open the door of his Toyota truck. He climb
ed into the seat and, to his further irritation, Chris came to the open passenger window and leaned on it like a hooker.
“I know, I really apologize. It’s just that last night...” Chris began.
“Look, man. I’m not interested in excuses,” Mason said impatiently. He was doing his best to control his temper, but the entitlement of expat gringos like Chris was something that was a perpetual irritation to him the longer he lived in Costa Rica. Even though he was half-Anglo himself, his years abroad had given him a fresh perspective on how entitled and inconsiderate they could be. He felt hot, angry words burst from his lips.
“Your life, your choices: own your shit, man. You were late. It’s not a huge deal, but you did inconvenience me. Not a great first impression. Call me next week.”
“Next week? But I wanted to get started right away. I can’t miss a single day.”
“Well, guess what? You just did. Sorry, man,” Mason replied, turning the keys in the ignition.
Chris looked stunned, but Mason could also tell that he was hurt. He pulled his arms from the window and said sheepishly, “Okay, yeah, I understand. Mind if I leave my car parked here? I think...I think I’m just gonna jog around the block.”
“Sure, do your thing,” Mason said, putting the gearshift in reverse and pulling out without another word.
Chris backed off, took a deep breath, and stuffed his car keys in his pockets. He shook his head as the truck took off, and he buried his face in his hands.
How fucked up could things get? He’d already had a hell of a night, and now this fucking jerk wasn’t even giving him the benefit of the doubt for one unfortunate accident. Chris immediately broke into a jog. He rounded out of Mason’s parking lot and down the block passing all the little houses.
It was a humble neighborhood, typical of the area, but it was well-kept. There were little tidy lawns and white begonias, pink hibiscus, and orange mimosa flowers bursting everywhere. He tried to keep his mind on how beautiful the morning was instead of what had just happened. He was determined to get in shape one way or another, even if he had to do it on his own. He wasn’t sure when he was going to see Tim again, and part of him didn’t want to after getting caught with the fake profile; but he was still determined to look as good as he could whenever that day came. If Tim could move on that quickly and find someone, he could at least get in good enough shape to attract someone. He was in his late twenties, which in gay years was like being on the verge of middle age. He had to get in shape and stay in shape, because there was always a new crop of twinks taking the seniors’ spots.
His mother always told him success is the sweetest revenge, and he would cling to those words like a lifejacket during the next few months or however long it took to accomplish his goal. Ideally, sooner rather than later, he thought to himself, as he tried to pick up the speed, but he was already running out of breath.
Beep. A car was honking at him.
He looked back, wondering why this jerk was driving so closely to him. But it was Mason’s truck. He pulled up beside Chris, his brown hair blowing as he leaned out the window
“Hey, you should stretch better before you start running,” he called. He’d taken off his sunglasses, and Chris was petrified: hazel brown eyes. Hazel eyes that almost made him trip over his own shoes.
“Good to know.” Chris said, as he continued jogging.
“Try to run on your toes; your knees are the first to go,” Mason yelled from his car.
“Ay-ay, captain,” Chris said, saluting sarcastically.
“Hey look, I’m sorry I was such a dick to you back there. Why don’t you stop? I'll park and we’ll finish this session together. I ran my errands and I still have forty minutes before I have to pick up my daughter.”
Chris sighed. He knew he was acting immature and the guy was apologizing. He didn’t have to do that. Besides, he was exhausted already, and this would give him a chance to stop and catch his breath.
He ran onto the grass of a small park and caught his breath, pacing back and forth and practically keeling over. The sun was beginning to cut through the haze of the morning fog, and already Chris felt the heat that had seemed so oppressive, even on the coolest days.
Mason pulled over. As he got out, he tugged his jogging pants downward and rubbed his belly once, absentmindedly pulling his tank top up for a moment, giving Chris a quick glimpse of his washboard abs. God. Chris thought. How fucking crazy. The sexy shower guy was his personal trainer. He only prayed that Mason didn’t recognize him, or had never noticed him watching. But wait a minute: what if he knew Chris was watching, but kept on showing off anyway? Could this guy be gay?
Mason tossed his hat off before slamming the door and walking over to Chris, cool as ice. Again, as before, Chris found himself flabbergasted just by Mason’s physique. He had a crotch-graspingly hot body. A black tank top clung to his Panther-like torso, and his shoulder-length hair framed his cut jaw, dimpled chin, and sculptural nose. Coarse stubble shadowed his face.
“Hey man, let’s start over. I never introduced myself properly,” he said, extending his hand. “Mason.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. So ...”
“So,” Chris smiled back nervously, catching his breath.
He couldn’t help but stare at Mason’s bulging biceps, sinewy forearm, and large powerful hands tossing his keys back and forth.
“Shall we get started? You worked out before?”
“Well, a long time ago.”
“When?” Mason asked doubtfully as he looked Chris up and down.
“Back in college. More like high school actually,” Chris chuckled.
Mason flashed him a smile that made Chris’ heart stop. Gorgeous. “You’re funny,” he said. “Alright. I don’t want to kill you the first day. Let’s hop in my car and go to the park around your house. I like to work out there, and besides, on our days off, if you ever want to work out on your own, you’ll know how and where.”
“Good idea,” Chris said, nodding.
“That’s why I said it,” Mason joked, flashing his perfect smile again.
-------------------- 0 --------------------
CHAPTER 6
Mason might have said he was going to take it easy on Chris the first day, but if this was taking it easy, he’d hate to see hard. Push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, burpees: and by the time they were ready for their first break, Chris looked like a cardiac victim. His pale skin was splotchy, with some parts bright red and others pork pale. He wheezed. Sweat was literally streaming from his temples.
“You have asthma or something?” Mason asked, concerned as he saw Chris clinging to the tree branch to hold himself up.
“No, I,” he wheezed, “I...just...”
“It’s okay. Stop. Stop. We should hold off for now.”
“Thanks,” Chris said laboriously, smiling through the pain. Mason looked down at Chris who was bent over, his hands on his thighs. “I feel like such a fat ass,” Chris said, shaking his head.
“No, not at all. It’s just your first day. We’ll get you straightened out.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Chris joked, waving his hand to the heavens.
Mason chuckled, “Amen to that, brother. So, how long have you been here?”
“Costa Rica? Too long,” Chris said, half-jokingly.
“Gets frustrating, right? I’ve been here for over ten years. If it wasn’t for my daughter, I probably would have headed back to the States too, but I don’t know; Costa Rica grows on you.”
“Yeah? How old’s your daughter?”
“She’s just five.”
“Ah, that’s cute. I always wanted a couple of kids.”
“Yeah? Your wife doesn’t want any?”
“No, I...”
“Sorry man, I didn’t mean to pry into your business.”
“No, not at all. I’m an open book. It was my ex who didn’t want them and he’s...well, I’m gay.”
Mason cocked his head
. “Wow,” he said.
“What?” Chris asked.
“No, it’s just...I had no idea. I mean, I know I just met you, but,” he shrugged, “you just didn’t seem...”
“Gay?” Chris finished his sentence.
“Well, yeah. Basically,” Mason said.
He’d heard that before. Most people assumed he was straight. Not that he would have cared if people thought he was gay. There was no shame in it, and he’d long gotten past all those insecurities about masculinity and femininity years ago.
“Well, thanks, I guess?” Chris joked.
“I didn’t mean anything offensive,” Mason shrugged, “I mean, my best friend is or was gay.”
“Was?” Chris asked, confused.
The subject seemed to be an uncomfortable one, and Chris wondered if it was a sensitive topic for their first conversation; however, there was something about Mason that seemed very appreciate of frankness and openness. No bullshit. Besides Tim, it was the first real conversation he’d had in months since he moved there.
“Didn’t mean to pry,” Chris apologized.
“No, it’s just that, I uh...”
Mason’s phone rang and he glanced at the ID. His face went from concerned to irritated.
“Oh, shit,” he said, before putting it to his ear.
“Yeah?” he asked. “Okay. Yeah, I know. It’s not...”
He looked at the time on his cell phone. Whomever he was talking to (Chris guessed it was his girlfriend), she was very loud. Loud enough that Chris could hear half the conversation.
Mason seemed increasingly agitated, but was trying to control his temper. “Victoria, calm down. Yeah, I know. Okay, give me like forty five minutes. Okay, thirty, I’ll get there as quick as I can. I will. Yes, Victoria. You know my water’s off right now. How am I supposed to? All right, yes. YES. I’ll figure it out.”
