Page 14 of Grumpy Bear

His expression softened when he caught my meaning. “Oh. Of course.”

“The nature of the beast. Don’t take it personally.”

He nodded and smiled at me. “Thanks for helping me, Coleman.” His hazel eyes were shiny in the afternoon light.

With nothing more to do with my hands, I felt like a dumbass standing there. “No problem.” Once again, I fled to my cabin.

And I hate to admit it, but…

I continued watching Luke from the window. He trotted to the lodge and returned with his guitar case and backpack. He took out a few items of clothing and refolded them, tucking them carefully inside the tent. He finally stepped out, shirtless, his shorts hanging low on his narrow hips. It made him look impossibly long and tall, almost elven, with slender muscular arms and shoulders. He stood for a moment, a shaving kit in one hand and a T-shirt in the other, looking in my direction. I instinctively stepped back from the window, although I doubted he could see me. He blew out his cheeks with a big exhalation and headed down the path, obviously on his way to the bathhouse.

7

Luke

I was genuinely grateful Coleman had helped me set up the tent, especially considering he didn’t seem to like me all that much. He probably thought I wouldn’t be able to figure it out. I definitely didn’t appear to be much like anyone else I’d seen around here so far. Most of the staff and guests looked like they were about to fell a tree or raise a barn or crawl under a truck and fix something.

I was a little sweaty, so I figured I’d rinse off before dinner.

The bathhouse was one big room with a vaulted ceiling. Just inside on the left was a bank of lockers and a bench. To the right were a few urinals and private toilet stalls. Concrete countertops along a half wall divided the center of the space. Small round mirrors were suspended from cables above individual sinks. A pass-through led into a communal shower—an open tiled area with showerheads along three sides.

The materials were rustic with industrial touches, functional but modern and tastefully done. Foggy transom windows ran along the tops of the walls where they met the slope of the ceiling. Natural light illuminated the steam and wet skin.

The sound of water battering tile and flesh echoed with shouted voices and a bark of laughter.

It was weird being an adult gay man in a communal shower situation. Back in the days of PE class, I compared myself to the, presumably, straight jocks strutting around showing off their early onset masculinity. I’d always felt like a weak little nerd next to those guys in high school who’d already had the bodies of twenty-five-year-old men. Being gay hadn’t helped. Here, the big manly jocks were all gay themselves, and the expectation was to openly present the very thing I’d once hidden in fear.

My impulse was to turn and back out of the room before anybody saw me, but I was already being appraised by a demigod in a towel. He paused in his shaving, fingers at his throat, watching me in the mirror.

He actually didn’t look like most of the other men around here either. He didn’t have the same easygoing, outdoorsy vibe. He didn’t carry himself like a country boy. Those were not blue-collar hands or muscles. He looked as unique as I probably did but in a completely different way. He wasn’t a bear. He looked more like an underwear model. He was dark-haired with intense black eyebrows and a big forelock that fell over one eye. He had high cheekbones, a pouty mouth, and a long nose. His body was smooth and ripped like one of those dudes on the front of a fitness magazine. If everyone thought I was a surfer, they must think this guy was like… an evil prince.

I managed to offer him a passably genuine smile.

He gave me zero acknowledgment in return. His eyes cut back to his own reflection, back to the expressionless mask of jaded boredom often found on the faces of some preternaturally handsome men.

Dude, I guess it must be tedious to be looked at and admired that much.

I spotted Austin turning under the spray, his hairy body slick like a bear fishing in a stream. To either side of him were guys who could have been cloned in the same laboratory—tall, dark, and beefy with muscles, chest hair, and tattoos. Across from them were two exceptions to this particular sampling of the gene pool—a ruddy Viking with an auburn mohawk and reddish-gold fur on his chest, arms, and stomach, and an all-American type with a dark-blond preppy haircut and noteworthy abs.

From where I was standing, the pony wall hid their lower bodies. It was impossible not to wonder about the rest of the view.

Damn. These men were so hot it was intimidating. I felt like I’d inadvertently walked onto the set of a porn and any minute someone was going to yell “Cut!” and have me thrown out.

“Luke!” Austin waved at me from the shower, his big kid-like grin flashing in his dark beard.

I held up a hand to return the greeting, then attempted to casually saunter over to the bank of lockers.

I undressed slowly, irrationally trying to buy time as if some miracle could transform my body. I looked like a teenager next to these beasts. Overall, I was pretty thin by comparison. I had some muscles, but calling me lean would be generous. My chest was oddly not hairy, considering I had so much on my head, face, and legs. My armpits were weirdly fluffy too. A tiny trail reached from my pubic hair toward my belly button but never quite made it any farther. My legs were pretty much covered in hair that turned blond in the summer. Even the tops of my feet were hairy, which I had been self-conscious about my whole life. My brothers had called me “Bilbo” and “Mr. Tumnus.”

My ex used to say I was part satyr.

I pushed the memory from my mind. I was done with thinking about his image of me.

My legs were also the only truly muscular part of my body. My chest, arms, and shoulders were boyish, but my thighs and calves were beefier than a lot of weightlifters’. If I could claim anything sporty, I guess I was more of a runner. I’d hated the track team my dad insisted I try out for every year at school, but I liked the escape of going for a run, music in my ears, the endorphin high that held the world around me in slow motion.

I found a towel on a shelf to wrap around my hips and made my way toward the showers. Chin up, shoulders back, I willed my spine to straighten, acting out a casual confidence I definitely did not feel.

It was like being onstage, playing in front of people. I had to kind of pretend it wasn’t happening. I wasn’t used to much of a gay scene. I’d missed the clubs, the cruisy gyms, the backrooms, and the sex parties because I’d been in relationships since I was sixteen.