Chapter 3: The Morning Challenge
The gym smelled of chalk and cold iron, a familiar perfume that usually steadied Stefan's nerves. Today it did nothing. His heart hammered as he pushed through the glass door at 6:45, and there was Diego, gray shorts and white sleeveless tee, leaning against a squat rack like he owned the place, two coffees sitting beside him on the floor.
That smile. The one that crinkled his eyes and made Stefan's knees feel unreliable.
"You're early," Diego said, warm amusement threading through his voice.
"So are you."
"I wanted to see the look on your face when you walked in."
Stefan's face heated. Diego's eyes swept over him, taking in the grey tank top and black gym shorts, and the attention felt different than the way guys at his old gym looked. There was nothing appraising in it. Just... interested. Hungry, maybe, in a way that made Stefan's pulse skip.
"Did you sleep?" Diego asked.
"Hell yeah. Why?"
Diego laughed, that low, infectious sound. He pushed off the rack and closed the distance between them, offering a coffee to Stefan's free hand. His fingers brushed Stefan's, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
"That grip you showed me last night," Diego said, quiet now, his eyes dropping to Stefan's hands. "Let's see if it holds a barbell."
They warmed up light, side by side, and Stefan kept sneaking glances at the bar loaded across Diego's shoulders. Same plates. Same depth on every rep.
"You squat deep," Stefan said between sets, wiping chalk on his shorts.
"Twenty years of practice. You're not far behind." Diego racked the bar and turned, sweat already darkening the hair on his chest. "Your turn. Show me."
Stefan stepped under the bar. Diego stood in front of him without being asked, big hands hovering below the bar, He breathed in, sank low, and drove up clean.
"Good." Diego's voice was right at his ear. "Again."
They traded sets, one lifting while the other spotted, and the rhythm of it felt strangely intimate. Same working weight. Same sets of five. Stefan had never trained with anyone who kept pace with him this exactly.
"Deadlifts next?" Diego asked, and Stefan nodded.
They stood by the water fountain afterward, catching their breath. The whole gym was still nearly empty around them. Diego's hand found Stefan's lower back, warm through the damp tank top, and stayed there.
"We're done early," Diego said. "You got time for breakfast? My treat."
Stefan hesitated for exactly one second.
"Yeah. I got time."
Diego's smile went wide and slow. "Good. Because I wasn't planning on letting you run off anyway."
Diego collected the coffees and his keys, and they walked out into the early light. His truck smelled like leather and cedar, same as last night, and Stefan settled into the passenger seat with his heart still bumping.
"You trust me to pick the place?" Diego asked, glancing over as he pulled out.
"You picked the bar."
"The Vault. Owner owes me a favor." Diego grinned at the road. "Best steak and eggs in the city, and nobody's awake yet to judge us."
The Vault sat on a side street, dark windows, a single bulb glowing over the door. Inside it was dim and empty, all polished wood and low amber light, the bar running long down one wall. It looked like the kind of place where secrets were currency.
"Back corner's mine," a voice called from the kitchen, and then a broad man in an apron appeared, nodding at Diego. "Stanley. Sit. I got you."
They took stools at the bar, side by side. Stanley brought two plates without asking, steak seared dark, eggs still glossy, a third coffee set down between them. Then he retreated, and it was just the two of them and the hum of the fridge.
"Eat," Diego said. "You earned it."
Stefan cut into the steak and it was perfect, and he told Diego so, and Diego laughed like that pleased him more than anything. Somewhere in the middle of it, warm and unhurried, Diego let his free hand settle on Stefan's knee under the bar. He didn't squeeze or rub. He just rested it there, heavy and sure, and kept eating with his other hand.
Stefan's fork slowed. Cheeks went a little pink. From the far end of the bar, Stanley's low chuckle sounded.
"I've been where you are," Diego said, "Stanley knows--he was here when I went through this. I was scared. Scared to want what you want. Spent years being the big loud guy so nobody'd look too close." He turned his head, and the crinkle at his eyes was soft. "But you're here, and that's the hardest part. After this, its all downhill." He smiled that perfect smile. "And you've got someone who understands. Me!"
Stefan looked down at that broad hand on his knee. Then he put down his fork and set his own hand over it.
"So... what happens next?"