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of the building seems to be all windows, and through them I can see guys working out on various types of machines. On a vertical concrete slab outside the main entrance, there’s a sign that reads YMCA. Saul pulls in to a parking space and shuts off the engine.
    “What’re we doing here?” I ask.
    Saul rubs both hands three times over his head. Then he looks at me and says, “Come on. You’re gonna be my workout partner.”

Chapter Four
     
    M Y HEART starts racing, and I get hard. I fold my hands over my lap. “Wait.”
    Saul, in the process of reaching into the backseat, stops. He looks at me again. “What’s wrong?”
    What’s wrong is that the sight of guys working out has always turned me on. What’s wrong is that the idea of seeing Saul work out has really turned me on. What’s wrong is that I don’t know if he’s gay, and if I get out of the car now, he’s going to see the bulge in my jeans, and I think I’ll die of shame when that happens. “I can’t do any kind of workout. I don’t have anything to wear in there.”
    Saul gives me a quick look up and down. “The Y doesn’t have any kind of strict dress code. You’ve got on sneakers. You wearing a tee?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Then all you need is a pair of sweats or training shorts. They sell those inside.”
    Great. I can still get out of this. “I’ve only got eleven bucks, and I need that for something else. I can’t buy any shorts or anything. Sorry.”
    Saul shrugs. “I’ll buy you a pair. No big deal.” He reaches into the backseat and grabs the duffel bag. “Come on.”
    “I can carry that bag for you—”
    “No problem, I’ve got it. Come on.” He opens the door and is out of the car in a flash with the bag on his shoulder.
    Shit.
    I take off my jacket and then climb out of the car. With the jacket draped over my forearm, I hold it in front of me so it hides my erection. There is suddenly this weird excitement all over Saul. It shines from his face now in the way he stares at the YMCA building with a glaze in his eyes that is almost like lust. It shines from his body in the rapid, eager way he’s walking toward the entrance. I hurry to keep up with him.
    We step through the door into a small lobby that is brightly lit. There’s a long counter in the middle of the room. Behind it, a Hispanic guy in his twenties is seated, watching a football game on a small television. He stands up when he sees us approaching, a smile spreading across his face. He’s wearing a sweater that’s tight enough to show that he works out himself. He picks up a clipboard that has a pen on a little chain dangling from it and holds it out to us. “Hey, Saul,” the guy says. “What’s shaking?”
    “Hey, Carmine.” At the desk, Saul grabs the clipboard and signs a paper there. He isn’t smiling, but I can see in every move he makes that he’s happy. “Got a guest with me today.”
    “Cool.” Carmine looks at me. “What’s up, fella?”
    I kind of wave at him, keeping my jacket in place. Saul passes the clipboard over to me. I see that it holds a sheet for people to sign in with the times they enter and leave the place. Next to his name, I see that Saul has written in his YMCA membership ID number. I put the clipboard down on the desktop so I can sign using one hand. Carmine takes the clipboard and starts typing our sign-in info into the computer next to the television.
    “Hey, my friend needs a pair of sweats or something,” Saul says as he pulls out his wallet.
    Friend? I clamp my lips together to keep from smiling.
    “Sure thing, man.” Carmine takes another look at me, sizing me up. Then he reaches somewhere under the desk and comes up with a folded pair of white sweatpants, which he places on the desktop. He rings up the sale on the cash register. “That’ll be $15.98,” he says.
    Saul pulls out a twenty and passes it to him. And that makes me wonder, if Saul had cash on him, why did he steal that magazine?
     
     
    M Y HARD - ON