In that moment he hated Doug, the college kid who spotted Vic. Matt wanted to be the one standing over his lover, the one whose hands touched Vic’s as they helped set the barbell back on its bar. He wanted it to be him who clapped Vic on the back, told him he did good, and asked if he didn’t want to head over to the racquetball court to practice their pitches. He’d be the one taking the weights off Vic’s barbell—never mind the fact he couldn’t lift them, that should be him. If looks could kill, the i***t bodybuilder would be writhing in pain at Vic’s feet, his limbs curling in like a bug’s legs withering in the sun.
A hand touched his arm, making him jump. “Hey,” Vic said, his voice soft. Matt turned to find his lover mere inches from him, concern lacing his features. This close, the manl
