This morning I was giving a lot of thought to my poor judgment. Mostly because I was outside in the early hours, meeting Ken at Millennium Monument for a jog.
A jog.
Talk about poor judgment.
Who was I trying to kid? I didn’t run, I didn’t lift. My lean, mean body was one-hundred percent thanks to genetics. Could I have been a little more mean and a little less lean with some gym time? Yes. Was I going to probably pass out a half-mile into this run because my endurance was non-existent? Also, yes.
So why was I here? Why had I agreed to this madness? I’ll tell you why. Because that sexy weirdo said all kinds of things like, stimulation, physical release, deep breathing.
He suggested, in that low voice of his, that I consider physical release as an escape from stress or boredom. The words, and the connotation I’d imagined (because I’m a perv), evoked images of sweaty, straining bodies, heaving breaths, and Ken’s handsome visage contorted in orgasm.
He’d continued on casually, as if I weren’t on the precipice of a full-blown erotic fantasy, and said, “Running is an excellent way to burn off energy. It releases endorphins which can feel like a high. I love it. You should come with me tomorrow.”
He presented the idea as if it would be so much fun. At his usual time, there wouldn’t be too many people on the trail, and we’d get to see the gorgeous, morning lake vista. I didn’t bother telling him that I got to see the morning lake view, unimpeded by tourists and joggers, whenever I wanted from the comfort of my living room. I knew he was trying to help.
His desire to help me feel good, share his love of running, and the promise of seeing him all sweaty and windblown again spurred me to agree.
Okay, it was like ninety-five percent sweaty and windblown. I was a red-blooded man, after all. And just because he was straight, didn’t mean I was blind. I was aware though, that this was a slippery slope. I shouldn’t allow myself any time to think about Ken in a sexual way. It wasn’t a big jump to go from, Gee, he’s pretty, to I wonder if his ass feels as tight as it looks. And I knew I was skirting a little too close with some of the thoughts I had last night.
I’d gone to bed, set to do breathing exercises like I promised him I would do before we hung up, but kept imagining his hot hand on my body sliding sinuously up and down my torso. First, it was simply the remembrance of him feeling my abdomen rise, then my imagination started taking it further with him sneaking in a caress of my nipple on the pass and going a smidge lower—past my waist—with each breath. He’d do that several times, each time being bolder, going lower. I imagined I couldn’t see his face at all, just feel his breath on me.
I finally had to shake myself out of it and give up the exercise because I’d been fully hard and disgusted with myself for going there with Ken in my brain. If I thought I’d made bad decisions about men before, those would be nothing compared with the shattering, consuming, and futile choice of having feelings for a straight friend. That’s stupid. That’s a disaster.
I should have begged off the run, I thought as I made my way to the monument. But as soon as I saw him standing there waiting for me, energetic and happy and so stinking handsome, I felt glad I’d come.
He was in a lightweight zip-up sweatshirt and basketball shorts, his toned, hairy calves on display. His hair was blowing in the breeze and his grin was contagious. As soon as I stepped next to him, he reached out and gave me a brief hug. The hug took me by surprise, but I managed to issue a few pats before it broke.
“I’m glad you made it,” Ken said, stepping back.
“I think you have mind control powers or something because I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”
He laughed. “Why, because it’s early, or do you not run?”
“Both!”
“I’m sorry for the hour.” He twisted his lips in sympathy. “Later on in the morning and afternoon this place”—he gestured around the park—“and the trail gets a little too packed for my liking. But it’s my favorite place to run in the city. The lake at dawn and in the early hours is beautiful. Plus, it’s supposed to get hot today, and I’d rather exercise while it’s still cool,” he explained.
“I’m glad you invited me to join you, really.” And I was. In that moment, I was stupidly happy to be there with him.
“As for the jogging, we don’t have to go hard. We can walk if you’d rather. Your company is a bigger draw to me this morning than the workout.”
Aww, I was touched, and I appreciated the out he was giving me, but I didn’t want to look like a wimp, so I said, “I’m up for it! Let’s do this!” Even knowing I was probably going to be regretting that enthusiasm, I still said, “I’m ready for the cardio.”
We did some stretches, where I intentionally avoided looking at Ken while he did his, just in case my eyes caught something my dick couldn’t ignore. I didn’t need that embarrassment. It was going to be hard enough to get through the morning without feeling self-conscious about my lack of athleticism. If I made it a mile without stopping, I’d be surprised.
We set off at a pace I was sure was too slow for Ken but was confident I could maintain for a good while. He guided us through the park and down to an entrance to the Lakefront Trail, where the view was beautiful, and the breeze cooled the sweat on my rapidly heating face.
Every now and then, Ken—who wasn’t breathing hard in the least—would ask, “Is this pace too quick?” or “Want to go farther?” I appreciated that he didn’t talk other than to check in. By the time we turned around at the Shedd Aquarium, I was sweating so profusely, breathing heavily, I couldn’t have talked if I wanted to.
He stopped us once we reached the point of the trail where we’d entered. He said we’d gone over two and a half miles, and I felt elated. “That was great,” I panted, removing my glasses to swipe the sweat from them. “My legs probably won’t work tomorrow, but I really enjoyed this, Ken.”
“I’m glad. I did too. You kept a good pace. I figured we’d use this last half-mile or so back to the monument as a cool-down.” He raked his hands through the curls at his forehead. The hair at his temples looked slightly dampened with perspiration, but that was the only indication of exertion I could detect. He still looked fresh and energetic.
I was sure I looked like a shriveled tomato in comparison.
“This is my regular Sunday morning routine,” he continued. “If you ever want to join me, feel free. I always start at the same place, same time. Most of the time I’ll turn around at the Shedd and make my way to the river and backtrack here, but if you come with me, we can do this shortened route until you build up your endurance.” He made the offer with a smile, but then seemed to check himself. “No pressure, though! Don’t feel like you have to come.”
I chuckled at his quickly worded assertion. “Let me see if my legs will work tomorrow, and I’ll think about it.”
“The offer’s open.”
We walked in silence for a bit, then he said, “The movie we watched last night…I’ve been thinking about it.”
I had hoped Ken wouldn’t talk about last night, because I didn’t want to discuss my paranoid behavior or make any more excuses. He graciously let me off the hook with hardly any explanation, and I counted myself lucky for it. But the movie was a safe topic, and one I was interested in exploring.
“Oh yeah? Did you like it? I wondered what you thought of it.”
“I liked it. I mean, it was entertaining throughout, and I was able to suspend my disbelief enough to really get absorbed in it. But…” he trailed off, deliberating his next words.
“But?” I prompted, eager to hear his takeaway.
“But the end,” Ken breathed. He looked at me, blue eyes wide. “I was surprised by the level of emotion I felt. I realized I hadn’t known what I wanted for them until it happened.”
“You didn’t know you wanted them to be together?” I asked. That he hadn’t been automatically rooting for the lovers the entire time was surprising.
“I felt sad for him,” he explained. “I wanted him to be able to preserve his memories of her and be able to move forward from there because those memories were precious. But when those were gone and all they had were recordings of themselves saying horrible things about each other, I thought, ‘This is your future self—or past self, in this case—telling you the other person is a path to unhappiness.’” He shook his head as if exasperated. “I know people don’t ever take good advice, especially where love is concerned, but if they couldn’t believe themselves, then they were idiots, in my opinion.”
“Isn’t that the truth!?” I exclaimed in eager agreement. “People never take good advice. They always do what they’re compelled to do. Which should mean you couldn’t have been surprised that they chose to do it all over again, right?” I asked.
“No, I wasn’t surprised that they chose each other,” he gave another shake of his head. “I was surprised that when they did, I was happy and relieved and hopeful. I didn’t know I wanted that for them until my eyes started welling up.”
I stopped in my tracks on the sidewalk and looked to Ken’s face. He was wearing a rueful, almost shy smile, like he was embarrassed by what he’d admitted.
“Wow,” was all I could say.
He let out a self-deprecating huff and said, “Yeah, I guess I’m not immune to feeling sappy about love, even when the evidence is clearly showing heartache and doom.”
“You’re a romantic,” I declared as we resumed walking.
“Yes,” he said after a moment. “I guess I am.”
My insatiable curiosity and unrepentant nosiness, wasn’t going to let the opportunity to dig into his love life pass, so I asked, “Are you constantly in and out of love?”
“No,” he answered readily. “As a matter of fact, I’ve not been remotely close to being in love since college.”
“Oh, no,” I said, anticipating a sad story. “Was she the One That Got Away?” Strangely, I didn’t like the idea of Ken pining away for some college sweetheart. It seemed sad and wasteful. Not sweet or romantic in the least.
He snorted. “No nothing like that. Angie and I had deep feelings for each other, but we were young, and our paths were going in different directions. We’d known it from the start. If we’d been able to stay together, if things could have been easy, I think we would have fallen in love and made a good go of it,” he explained. “But it didn’t get that far and that was fine, too. Everyone else…well, they’ve just been possibilities. Possibilities that didn’t pan out.”
I was relieved there wasn’t any big heartache in his past. Still, I wanted to know more.
“What would you say makes you a romantic?”
“I think it’s because I’m not very interested in casual relationships. I want commitment and a true partnership. I want to put work into something meaningful, not into transient, shallow relationships.”
I was surprised by his candor. He didn’t strike me as the type of person who would lay his most personal dreams out for anyone to hear, and I was warmed by his trust in me.
“And no relationships since Angie?”
He shook his head and shrugged. “I’ve dated here and there, but things always fizzled fast. Honestly, up until now, school and work have taken up too much of my time to put in the required effort it takes to foster a relationship, so I’ve been single.”
We nearly reached the fountain of the monument when he stopped to face me. His expression was one of sheepish hopefulness. He was back to being too adorable.
“But now,” he announced. His eyes boring into mine. “I’m finally in the perfect place to make it happen.” His voice was low and earnest. “I want it. I’m ready.”
My stomach flipped. I felt like I was going to puke up a swarm of butterflies. God damn it. I was suddenly intensely jealous of whichever woman got to be the recipient of all his attention and dedication and love.
I hated her, whoever she was. I hated myself in that moment, too, because I knew I was feeling things for Ken I had no business feeling. Never, ever, ever fall for the straight ones. That’s the best advice, and woe betide anyone who ignores it.
But, as Ken pointed out, no one ever takes advice contrary to their heart’s desire.
It seemed I was well and truly fucked.