There were a few things that Lyle Bridge was passionate about. His job. His clothing, and the acquiring of more. Making money, both for himself and for his clients. Working out. That was about it, really. The job took care of the making money part, and the money took care of the wardrobe. Working out and staying fit was the only thing he had to carve time out of his day for, and that wasn't really a hardship.
During the week he simply went to the gym in his apartment building, usually before anyone else was up. Only twice had he had to wait to use the elliptical machine, and he'd never had to share the free weights at all. He spent an hour each morning waking up and getting his endorphin hit for the day, then went back to his apartment to shower and get ready for work. Twelve hours later, he would be home again and ready to settle in for the night.
On the weekends Lyle would take his workout to the streets, jogging for an hour or so along Toronto's downtown waterfront. It got him out of the building, kept him in touch with the city, and if he really wanted to, he could kind of make his way back to the office for a few hours, if he wasn't completely gross and sweaty.
This wasn't going to be one of those days. It was hot, the sun already baking down at eight in the morning. He'd run, though, making sure to keep his water bottle at the ready, and he'd take in the sights.
"Oh, man, running in this heat. You're either dedicated or insane." The voice was low and smooth and the words were followed up by a friendly laugh.
There were precious few trees on the waterfront, but the owner of the voice was lying half-reclined beneath one, wearing a pair of ragged cut-offs and sunglasses. A ripped belly and a decent chest with two dark little nipples topped the shorts.
Lyle slowed and then stopped, taking the opportunity to drink more water as he took in this particular sight. "Dedicated," he said as he looked down at the man and grinned. "Desk job." He lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat away, showing off his own abs.
"Oh, man. You have my sympathies." The guy licked his lips. "At least you have a nice place to run."
"It's not bad." Lyle drank again, his throat working. "I don't mind the desk. But I'll have to shower before I go back to it today, that's for sure."
One eyebrow arched up over the top of the sunglasses. "It's Saturday, man. The weekend." The ground was patted. "Sit a spell."
Lyle had a little internal debate. He had his day all planned, and his run wasn't even half over. But. Hot guy. Really hot guy, with a tan and no shirt and shorts that looked really soft. "I work every weekend," he said as he sat down. "By choice. But I can take a bit of time, I suppose. Water?" He offered his bottle and wiped at his forehead again.
"Sure. Thanks." Hot guy took the bottle and tipped his head back, throat working as he swallowed. Oh, very nice. Very nice indeed. Wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, hot guy handed the bottle back and then held out his hand. "Rupe."
"Lyle." They shook and Lyle appreciated the firm grip, the rough skin that proved Rupe worked with his hands. "Not a desk job, huh?" He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of himself.
Rupe laughed and shook his head. "I'd die, man." The way he said it, it didn't sound like a euphemism, but as if Rupe really believed it.
Lyle tilted his head. "How come? I mean, I know working inside an office isn't for everyone, but I love my job. Enough to work six or seven days a week, if I can manage it."
"I can't imagine being cooped up inside all day. Just showing up at seven a.m. every day is hard enough."
"I show up around then and they make me wait in the lobby," Lyle said with a laugh. "They make me wait until half past before they'll let me go up to my office. What do you do, if you're working outside? Something that keeps your body moving, obviously."
That got him a nod in acknowledgement of the compliment. "Construction. I'm working on that new building on Young and Front Street." Rupe pointed his chin in the general direction. "What about you--what's got you chained to a desk seven days a week?"
"Stockbroker." Lyle wasn't quite able to keep the joy and pride out of his voice. He was made to make money, to watch it grow and break down and be built back up. He loved the pace of the trading floor, the trends and charts and the delicate maneuvering. "There's no chain involved, just the game."
"Better you than me, man." Rupe shook his head; he might have even shuddered a little.
Lyle shrugged. "Wouldn't catch me swinging a hammer. To each his own, I suppose." He took another swallow of his water and moved to stand up. "Enjoy the sun."
"Oh, I will." Rupe pulled his sunglasses down his nose and gave Lyle a slow up and down over the top of them. "I don't suppose you want to go get something to eat?"
Tilting his head again, gaze fixed on Rupe's bare belly, Lyle found himself nodding. "Define 'eat'." If the man hated office jobs, he might hate decent food like eggs and cheese, too.