Outdoor Gear Rental Counter Chapter 2
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Chapter 2: East Village Flats
The next morning, I wake up in the Nike boxer briefs feeling equal parts exhilarated and guilty. The memory of our conversation on Snapchat last night lingers in my mind. Hayden’s tone was almost desperate, the kind of vulnerability I’ve never associated with someone like him—a confident, straight, golden boy showing some cracks.
As the sun streams through my blinds, it highlights the tangled mess on my bed. The two sleeping bags lying here, almost entwined, feel like a metaphor for the way our lives seem to have unexpectedly collided. Hayden, a guy I’d written off as unattainable and untouchable, now caught up with me, an Upperclassman, in probably the biggest Freshman secret on campus.
I get out of bed and dive into my morning routine, hoping a warm shower will wash away the lingering thoughts and guilt over my conversation with Hayden. With my teeth brushed and coffee brewing, I check my phone and see another Snap notification from him. This time he’s at the dining hall having breakfast with his friend Gabriel. I’ve never paid much attention to Gabe—he’s compact and fit, but his bottle-rimmed glasses and curly black hair make him look much older than the freshman he is. Hayden seems back to his usual self: confident and at ease, a stark contrast to the unguarded side he showed last night. In the video, he grins while flexing his arm for the camera, and Gabriel rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. The caption reads: Gotta keep Gabe humble. 💪
Staring at the Snap a little too long, I try to reconcile this usual carefree version of Hayden with the guy pleading for my silence last night. The duality is fascinating, making me wonder what version of him will be at my doorstep tonight.
After I finish my coffee and some cereal, I grab my bag and head out the door. I have an ECON lecture and need to work on my Environmental Justice paper, it’s deadline later this week.
In the lecture hall, I settle into my usual seat near the middle row, notebook ready. Today’s topic is the valuation of ecosystem services, and the Prof dives straight into examples of how natural resources like wetlands or forests contribute to the economy—not just in terms of tangible goods, but through less obvious benefits like carbon sequestration or flood control. The subject intrigues me, but my thoughts keep drifting to Hayden and the evening ahead. I try to refocus, jotting down terms like ‘contingent valuation’ and ‘hedonic pricing’, but the tension in my chest won’t let me fully engage.
Heading to the Norlin Library to work on my paper after my lecture, I see a group of basketball players dressed in CU Buffs gear. Among them is Brendan, who Hayden wants me to keep their secret. Brendan is mid-laugh, joking loudly with the others, his demeanor nonchalant.
I freeze, wondering if Hayden has told Brendan about me. Our eyes meet briefly, but Brendan gives no sign of recognition, turning back to his teammates without missing a beat.
As I walk away, I can’t help but feel a sense of frustration. Brendan’s life seems unaffected by what happened, while Hayden carries the weight of their secret.
It’s not until I’m back at work at the REC in the afternoon that I realize I still might not be in the clear for taking the unwashed sleeping bag out of the building before checking it out.
“Hey, Joey,” Ethan interrupts me while browsing the REI website, looking at some YETI tumblers.
“What’s up?” I look at him. Ethan is in his early 30s and even worked at the REC before they had the climbing wall and the expansion of our outdoor offerings. He’s the one who hired me and promoted me to a manager, and it helped that he was once a Boy Scout too, but he never made it up to Eagle like me. I know that Ethan is single, I’ve just assumed he is straight because he’s never made a pass or hit on me knowing I’m gay.
“Did you take a whole pile of waiver forms from my office out here to the desk?” He asks scratching his head.
“Uhh no, I just went into your office yesterday to grab a spare clipboard. It’s possible they might have gotten moved over the weekend, do you want me to help look?” I say quickly, trying to sound as innocent as possible.
“Sure, Anita needs a dozen of them for the bike clinic on Wednesday.” Ethan leads me to his office and I pretend to look around for them for a couple of minutes, then find the forms I dumped on a filing cabinet yesterday.
“Here they are!” I exclaim holding up the stack.
“Man, you always have a sixth sense for these things Joey. What would I do without you here?” Ethan takes the stack and starts counting out the number he needs.
“No problem,” I nod. As I exit Ethan’s office, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. His interruption had me on edge, but thankfully, it wasn’t about the sleeping bag or anything else about Hayden, and I was overthinking.
The rest of my shift passes quietly, though I keep glancing at my watch. We have a short meeting after my shift where Ethan and the Injury Care Center staff double-check our First Aid certifications. It’s mostly for the new hires, and I still have one year left on my Wilderness First Aid (WFA) certification.
As I walk to my car, I swipe open Snapchat and see a new story from Hayden. It’s a clip of him jogging along the track, shirtless, with the caption: Late grind 💨. His smooth skin glistens in the low evening light, muscles taut and defined as he runs. I can see the top of some Nike underwear above his shorts and for a second, I wonder if it’s for me. Then I shake my head. Hayden posts stuff like this all the time—it’s probably for all his followers, not me specifically.
I open up the map and see Hayden back at his dorm by Farrand Field. Clicking on his all-Nike-clad BitMoji I start typing a message: Hey Hayden, do you still want to talk tonight? I just got off work.
The dots appear and vanish a few times before his reply comes through: Yes, if it’s okay with you I’m gonna take a quick shower before I head over. Where is your place again?
2885 Aurora, if you’re walking over, take the tunnel by Kittredge Field, you can’t miss it. My unit is 204 in the building with the red Camry out front.
Hayden reads my chat almost immediately, and a reply comes in within seconds: Got it. See you soon.
After my short drive home from the REC, my stomach twists in knots—not from fear, exactly, but from the uncertainty of what this night might bring. I pace the living room, straightening things that don’t need to be straightened, checking the fridge and cabinets unnecessarily, and rethinking my pride-themed decor.
The decision is to leave everything as it is. The rainbow flag draped over the small bookshelf and the subtle Progress Pride pin on the corkboard over my desk stay put. If Hayden’s coming over and wants to let things out, he’s walking into my space as it is—messy thoughts, my openly gay identity and all.
A knock interrupts my spiraling thoughts.
When I open the door, Hayden stands in a crisp, black CU Buffs hoodie, gray Nike joggers, and Panda Nike Dunk Lows. His blonde hair’s still slightly damp, curling at the edges as if he rushed out of the shower. He shifts a King Soopers grocery bag in his hand, offering me a nervous smile.
“Hey again Joey,” he says, holding up the bag. “I brought snacks 'cause I didn’t know how long we might take here.”
He steps inside, his eyes scanning the front room of my apartment. It’s subtle, but I catch the way his gaze lingers on the pride flag for just a moment before he flashes me a grin that seems a bit practiced.
“Thanks. You didn’t have to,” I say, closing the door behind him.
“Figured it’s the least I could do since you probably had a long day at work.”
I shrug, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “Not as long as yesterday, and certainly not as interesting.”
He chuckles softly, setting the grocery bag on the coffee table, next to my ‘Everyone is Awesome’ rainbow pride LEGO set. “Interesting, huh? Hope it was a good thing.”
“It was, do you want something to drink?” I say as I open my fridge, my hand about to grab two Tangerine White Claws.
"Sure," Hayden nods, his eyes lighting up as he spots the drinks. "White Claw sounds good."
I grab two cans, pop them open, and hand one to him. It doesn’t take long for even the most straight-laced, Christian boys from South Carolina to adapt to the party school vibe of CU Boulder. While he keeps his socials clean of anything too revealing, it’s no surprise he’s already familiar with the college drinking scene. We settle onto my small pleather couch, the quiet stretching between us as we sip our drinks, each of us seemingly lost in thought.
“So,” I start, putting my can on the coffee table. “What’s the story? You and Brendan…?”
He sighs heavily, running a hand through his damp hair. “Look, I’m not gonna lie. I was freaked out when you messaged me. I don’t know how you even knew, but... yeah, Brendan and I... we did some stuff. We were drunk, it was just—” He stops, looking down. “A mistake.”
“A mistake?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. “Because you’re straight, right?” My tone carries just enough challenge to make him glance up sharply.
“I am and have a girlfriend,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction. “It was... complicated. Brendan’s straight too, but I haven’t seen Ava in over a month, aside from some private snaps we send each other.”
“So what did you and Brendan do to the sleeping bag? I give him a nervous chuckle, trying to glaze over my heightened interest directly on that subject.
Hayden’s cheeks flush a deep shade of red. He takes a swig of his White Claw, buying time. "Okay, so, the whole story is Brendan and I did stuff inside our tent on it," he finally admits. "He...gave me a blowjob, and I, uh, I returned the favor with a hand job. It just got out of hand, and we both came all over the sleeping bag and I didn’t think you’d look." His words come out in a rush as if saying them quickly might make them less real. He looks at me with a mix of embarrassment and hope, like I might somehow absolve him of his guilt just by knowing their secret too.
I tilt my head, studying him. There’s something raw and unguarded about Hayden now, a far cry from the confident D1 athlete everyone at school figures him to be. “So why are you here? What do you want me to do aside from wash that sleeping bag of all the evidence?”
“To make sure this doesn’t get out,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Joey. I can’t—my team, Ava, my family—they’d never understand.”
I lean back, letting his words hang in the air for a moment. Hayden’s desperation feels tangible, heavy as if he’s bracing for my judgment. I sip my White Claw, watching him—the way his shoulders sag and his knee's nervous bounce. There’s a vulnerability to him that pulls at me, but also a frustration. What else does he want from me if he’s here?
“Look, Hayden,” I say, keeping my tone steady. “I get it. You’re scared, and this probably feels like the end of the world if it were to get out. But it’s not. People aren’t as judgmental as you think, especially not here. Colorado is... forgiving.”
His eyes dart up, searching my face for something—reassurance, maybe. “You don’t understand,” he says, voice trembling. “I’ve worked my whole life to come here. Running’s everything. If the guys on my team found out, or if my family even suspected...”
I hold up a hand, stopping him. “I’m not going to tell anyone, okay? Whatever happened between you and Brendan, that’s your business. I might have said something about telling Ava last night, that was just a spit-of-the-moment thing, and I’m sorry for doing that. But I need to know one thing—why did you want to come here to talk about this?”
Hayden hesitates, his gaze flickering nervously between me and the floor. He chews on his bottom lip, clearly wrestling with the words as they build up in his chest. “Because... I don’t know. I just thought maybe you could help me figure this out. You seem... cool and open with this kind of stuff. I mean, I guessed you were gay when we first met, but now I’m not so sure about myself. Like, am I bi because I enjoyed it? Or was it just some weird, one-time thing because we were drunk and... curious?” His voice trails off, the weight of his confusion pressing down on him. His hands grip the can of White Claw so tightly that his knuckles turn white, but his eyes stay locked on the floor as if avoiding the truth staring him in the face.
I lean in closer, feeling a twinge of sympathy. “You’re not alone, Hayden. Lots of guys go through this. Even I did when I was 16. It doesn’t have to be a big deal unless you make it one. And if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
He looks up at me, and for a moment, his eyes seem to search my soul. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leans closer. Our knees brush together, and the air between us crackles with a tension that’s no longer just about the secret with Brendan or Hayden’s used underwear now in my bedroom.
Despite Hayden's initial hesitation, the weight of his secret and the comfort of my understanding presence seemed to break down his barriers. His gaze lingers on my lips for a heartbeat too long, and suddenly, the space between us feels electric—the tension in the room shifts from fear and uncertainty to something else entirely—desire. Before I know it, my hand is on his thigh, a gentle squeeze that seems to unlock something within him.
He gasps softly, his eyes widening, but he doesn't pull away. Encouraged, I lean in, closing the gap between us until our lips meet in a tentative, searching kiss. Hayden's hand hovers near my cheek, as if waiting for my permission, and when I press into him, his fingers curl into the black polyester fabric of my work shirt, pulling me closer. The kiss deepens, the flavor of mint from our mouthwash mingling with the faint sweetness of the White Claw.
His tongue is cautious, exploring, and it sends a thrill through me, knowing that I just might be the first guy to taste him like this. The kiss feels like a silent confession, a promise of secrets shared, and a bond formed in the quiet of my apartment. When we finally break apart, Hayden's eyes are filled with a mix of shock and something that looks suspiciously like need. He whispers, "Does this mean I'm not straight?"
With a gentle smile, I reply. "Only you can answer that, Hayden. But I'm here to help you explore if that's what you want. If you want me to admit it, I’ve followed you on Tiktok and Snap for a long time, and it wasn’t just for your dancing."
“Do you want to do what Brendan did then? Maybe you aren’t as sloppy.” Hayden takes in a deep breath.
The question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation, as Hayden's eyes drift down to my crotch. I feel myself harden at the thought, but I hold back, not wanting to push him too far. "Only if you're comfortable with it, but I take it you’re not drunk this time on one can of White Claw" I murmur, tracing the line of his defined jaw with my thumb.
He nods slowly, his breath hitching, and my heart races as I crawl onto the floor in front of him to start undoing his laces before he kicks away his Nike Dunks. I stare for a moment at his huge feet in his white Nike crew socks and rub them, feeling the warmth of his skin and the sweaty fabric. His toes wiggle slightly at my touch, and he lets out a contented sigh. Gradually, my hands move up his calves, feeling the muscles tense and relax beneath my palms.
Hayden lifts his hips slightly, allowing me to pull down his sweatpants and reveal orange Nike boxer briefs that cling to his form. His about 6-inch erection is evident, straining against the stretchy fabric, and the sight sends a wave of desire through me. Hayden's eyes never leave mine as I trace the outline of his circumcised cock with my fingers, feeling the heat and power of his arousal.
My hands hook into the underwear and Hayden lifts his hips again as I slip them down slowly, feeling his smooth powerful legs with my fingers. I lean in, my eyes fixed on Hayden’s growing erection, and press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, making him gasp. His hands tangle in my hair, and for a moment, I think he might push me away, but instead, he guides me closer, urging me to explore him further.
The taste of him is surprisingly sweet, a stark contrast to the salty pre-cum that leaks onto my tongue. I wrap my lips around him, taking him inch by inch, savoring the feel of him in my mouth. Hayden’s breathing skips, his abs contracting as he tries to hold himself still. My other hand reaches up to stroke his inner thigh, my thumb grazing his balls, which feel tight and warm. His moan fills the small room, and I know he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
As the tension builds between us, Hayden's hips begin to rock, his breathing growing more ragged. His eyes lock onto mine and he moans “Joey, please don’t stop.” I oblige, taking him deeper into my throat. His hands tighten in my hair, guiding me in a rhythm that matches the pounding of my heart. The head of his cock hits the back of my throat, and I try not to gag, eager to taste him fully.
With each bob of my head, I feel his body tense up, his muscles tightening with an intensity that seems to build up, ready to snap at any moment. His breaths become gasps, and then a strangled moan escapes his lips as he spurts hotly into my mouth. I swallow, savoring his salty emission, feeling a strange sense of power in giving him this relief. His body relaxes, his eyes rolling back in his head as I pull away and admire his spent cock wet with my saliva.
I fall back to the side as he pulls his underwear back on, but to my relief, he doesn’t reach for his pants just yet. “Can we finish in the bedroom?” I plead.
“Okay Joey,” he nods, and I take him by the hand to my bed with the two sleeping bags laid out for us and his blue Nike underwear crumpled on the floor.
“I slept in your sleeping bag last night thinking about you and Brendan, would you do what you did to Brendan with me in it?” I implore him, hoping my now-evident nylon sleeping bag fetish doesn’t weird him out.
In the dimly lit bedroom, Hayden nods, his eyes dark with lust as we both strip down to our underwear—his still slightly damp from the earlier action, and my heart pounds again as I watch him take off his hoody and t-shirt.
We climb into his unzipped Cat’s Meow sleeping bag, the material sticky with our excitement and the faint scent of sweat from his weekend with Brendan. His hand finds its way to my growing erection, wrapping around it through the fabric of my black New Balance boxer briefs. The sensation is intense, the spandex adding a layer of friction as he jerks me off with a gentle but firm grip. Our bodies press together, the heat of our skin mingling with the softness of the sleeping bag.
The room falls away as Hayden pulls my dick over the top of the briefs, and my whole body shudders at the direct touch of his hand on my cock. Without a word, Hayden's hand begins to stroke again, his movements tentative but earnest. His touch is surprisingly tender, his thumb circling the sensitive tip of my cock as he watches my face for any sign of discomfort or pleasure. The dual sensation of his hand and the clinging nylon fabric around us sends waves of pleasure through me, and I can't help but moan softly. His eyes never leave mine, searching for reassurance as he continues to explore my body.
As Hayden’s hand moves with increasing confidence, I feel myself getting closer to the edge. My hips rock involuntarily, my moans growing louder as the tension in my body reaches a crescendo. When I finally orgasm, it's with a gasp that turns into a low moan, my cum spurting out onto my furry chest, Hayden's eyes widen at the sight, his arousal evident as he watches me unravel.
The release is too intense, and for a few seconds, I’m lost in the sensation of him touching me, his hand still moving gently even as I come down from the high. His hand lingers for a moment before he pulls away, his eyes still locked on the mess we've made together. I pull the top of the sleeping bag over me, my fresh spunk melding with the evidence of Hayden’s drunken weekend romp.
I close my eyes briefly and feel Hayden slip out of the sleeping bag, only he doesn’t get out of the bed. When I open my eyes I see him covering himself with my old sleeping bag, probably not aware of my cum stains in it from jacking off Saturday night to him.
We both lie on my bed next to each other for what feels like an eternity, the room quiet except for the soft sound of Hayden’s breathing. I glance over at him, his chest rising and falling steadily as he sleeps, wrapped up in my old Cat’s Meow sleeping bag. I’m left alone with my thoughts, trying to make sense of everything that happened tonight. My stomach growls suddenly, breaking the silence.
Looking at the clock on my dresser, I realize it’s already past 9. Hayden is still fast asleep, looking peaceful, and I’m starving. I gently lift myself out of bed, taking care not to disturb him, and shuffle my way to the kitchen. The slow cooker broccoli beef I made on the weekend is calling my name, and I quickly heat a plate in the microwave, my mind drifting between the comfort of food and the uncertainty of what comes next.
As I put away my dishes and toss the empty cans of White Claw into the recycling bin, my phone on the kitchen counter starts to buzz. I look at the screen and it’s Alex. From all the notifications, he’s been trying to get ahold of me for a while.
Joey, r u asleep? Where r u?
At home, why? I type back with an annoyed emoji face.
I’m coming by to grab Codenames. Aisha and I left it there last weeknd remember?
I roll my eyes, resisting the urge to type something snarky. It’s already late, and honestly, the last thing I want right now is to have Alex show up just to get a board game of all things and start asking questions.
Really? Right now? I text back, adding a facepalm emoji for good measure.
Yeah, we need it for tomoro night and you work late, right? Won’t take long. I’m already on the way there.
I flip to Snapchat and see on the map that he’s serious, and already just down the block. I have less than two minutes before he shows up and I quickly close my bedroom door and grab the game from my bookshelf hoping Alex won’t stick around if I just hand him the game and stop him from coming in.
Peeking through my blinds, I spot Alex coming to my door. I hand Alex the Codenames box through a narrow opening, my nerves jangling as I try to act casual. “Here you go,” I say quickly, hoping he’ll just take it and leave.
Alex looks at me dressed in only my boxer briefs, his brow furrowing. “What’s up with you? You’re being weird.”
I force a chuckle. “Weird? Nah, I’m just tired. Long day, you know?”
He smirks, not buying it. “Uh-huh. Sure. You got someone over?”
I stiffen, my heartbeat quickening. “Nope. Just me. I’m literally about to crash.”
“Since when did you get Dunks?” Alex asks, his eyes lighting up with recognition as he gestures toward Hayden’s shoes left in front of the couch. Of course, he’d notice them as a sneakerhead—they’re not mine, and there’s no way I can pretend otherwise.
I swallow hard, trying to play it cool. “Oh, those? They’re not mine. Borrowed them from a friend,”
Alex raises an eyebrow, his curiosity clearly piqued. “A friend? Late-night hangout? Joey, come on, you can’t hide this stuff from me.”
“Seriously, Alex,” I say, my voice firm now. “It’s not a big deal. Just drop it, alright?”
He leans back, clearly enjoying how flustered I’m getting. “Fine, fine. But I’m texting you tomorrow—You’re coming out with it. Aisha says thanks, by the way.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, already pushing the door shut. “Goodnight, Alex.”
Before he can say anything else, I lock the door and lean against it, exhaling a shaky breath. This night just keeps getting more complicated. I tiptoe back toward the bedroom, praying Alex doesn’t double back for another round of questioning.
When I peek inside, Hayden is still fast asleep, his face half-buried in the Cat’s Meow. The sight of him, peaceful and unbothered, stirs something inside me—part relief, part something else I’m not ready to name. I slide onto the bed beside him, careful not to wake him, and stare at the ceiling.
Alex’s words replay in my head. He’s not wrong; there’s no hiding what’s happening here, not forever. But for now, I just need to figure out how I feel about it all—about Hayden, about tonight, and about what comes next.