The Trainer Read Online Free PDF Page A

name, perfect stranger about the man he once said he loved.  That was some fucked-up shit.
    Chris paced the floor, feeling like suspending all his Facebook accounts completely , but not before he said one more thing:
     
    Well, you live, you learn. There’s two sides to every story after all.
     
    That’s when Justin and Alec jumped in.
     
    Two sides? Trust us. That guy was such a loser. Tim, I knew you could do so much better than that. We’ve been telling you that for years.
     
    Chris was furious. He felt like spilling all their personal business online, such as writing about how he knew Justin couldn’t get it up anymore, or that Alec always snuck off to go to the bath houses alone and Justin had no clue about it.
    That is , until Tim wrote:
     
    Oh, my God. Everybody, this Luis guy is actually Chris. I just checked the IP address of this profile and he made this fake profile months ago to spy on me. That is so typical paranoid, obsessive, pathetic Chris. Bitch. No wonder I left you.
     
    Chris felt his stomach tighten. It got worse with comment after comment of Tim’s catty friends from all over the place chiming in about how fucked up it was what Chris had done. Chris couldn’t sleep the whole night, tossing and turning, thinking about whether he had dug himself to the bottom of the hole. Or how he could possibly climb out.
     
     
     
     
     
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    CHAPTER 5
     
    T he next morning, Chris cracked open his eyes, and it seemed unusually light outside. He felt like shit: he had a pounding headache and immediately remembered all of the stress from the drama the night before. Pain stabbed into the back of his neck from sleeping in the wrong position all evening.
    “One hot mess,” he groaned, raising a finger.
    His hand fished for his phone to see what time it was, and his blurred vision became instantly clear as his eyelids peeled back in horror.
     
    5:17 AM
     
    Shit. He hoped that Mason was still there, as he grabbed some sweat pants and a t-shirt from the dirty clothes hamper and scrambled to put them and his sneakers on the way out the door. He even left his shoes untied as he leaped and hopped his way down the stairs of his condo and out the front gate.
    As he jumped into his car, h e looked at his text messages for the address, and he squealed out of the parking lot, rounding the corner down to Mason’s street. Thank God he didn’t live that far away: in fact, he was clearly just on the backside of Chris’s own development; probably within hearing distance of his own back yard.  He tried to call him several times on the way there, but he figured it was bad reception as usual.
    Chris’s car squealed to a stop, the sides of his tires squeaking against the curb in front of Mason’s little house. As he scrambled to get out, he noticed the garage, full of gym equipment and open to the cool, humid air, but the door was beginning to close.
    “Hello?” Chris called.
    “I’ll be out in a second,” answered a low, disgruntled voice inside. As the door finished closing, Chris stood waiting in his sweats, feeling awkward. Dogs barked down the street. The thrum of tropical insects, omnipresent even amid the roar of traffic in downtown Escazu, filled the morning air, cool and dewy. The house was a modest stucco split-level with a red-tiled roof. Ferns and small palms were planted all around it, and the lawn was meticulously mowed.
    Sudden ly, Chris realized:  oh my God. Those big picture windows on the side of the house? This was his favorite exhibitionist’s house. He almost ran - mortified that the neighbor would recognize him - but at that moment, the front door opened.
    Out stepped the man: it could be none other than his sexy stranger. About six foot even, with broad shoulders, a cut-billed camouflage cap, sunglasses, and a black tank top. Chocolate brown hair fell to his shoulders. He turned, locked the door, and then stood there with one hand in his pocket