An hour later, Rob was still working on his jalapeno poppers, though he was starting to feel a little full. Josh sat down with a plate of steamed vegetables, rice and a breast of grilled chicken, which he'd done on the George Forman grill his dad had bought him as a going-away-to-college present.
"Dude," Rob said, between bites. "When you said you wanted to keep your figure, I didn't think you were on a diet. You gotta live a little. Have some poppers." He tossed a bowl of them at the muscle stud across the table from him.
"Hey man," Josh replied, "if you want to keep a bod like this, you gotta be consistent."
"Oh, like I haven't been consistent," Rob retorted. "I've been going to the gym at least three days a week ever since I started football in high school. I deserve a break every once in a while."
"It looks like you've been consistent, all right," Josh replied. "That mound of flesh I felt earlier says it's been consistent partying ever since the football season ended. You're gonna have a heart attack at 25 at this rate."
"All right then," said Rob, as he stood up. "If you're so hot, why don't you show me this ripped bod you're so proud of."
Josh stood up, and without saying a word, pulled his black muscle tee over his head, revealing a body that would make most fitness models blush. He had a perfect set of 8-pack abs, sitting below an ample pair of pecs that jutted just perfectly out from his torso, shoulders that just begged to be massaged, and of course those amazing biceps that lived inside his tanned, paper-thin flesh, jumping every once in a while with the little movements that come from being human.
"All right," he said. "I showed you what I've got. Now let's see what you have."
Rob hesitated for a moment, and then...