On the squatting platform, Nate adjusts his grip on the bar, shoulders bunching, and I notice immediately that his form is a little off—too much strain through his lower back. Without thinking, I stand, crossing the floor.
“Pause,” I say, and both men freeze. Nate looks at me with raised brows, sweat dripping down his temple.
“You’re overloading your lumbar. Tighten your core, brace through here.” I set my hands on his waist. “Yes. There. Now drive up through the heels.”
The weight rises smooth, steady. Satisfaction floods through me.
I feel Leo’s stare, sharp and assessing, clocking how myhands linger, how Nate’s focus flicks down at me. But he doesn’t say a word.
Ryan does, though. “Man,” he drawls, voice all faux innocence, “it’s like watching a real-life Nike commercial. Except hornier.”
I nearly drop my water bottle. Nate just grins, resets the bar, and wipes the sweat off his neck with a towel.
“Your turn,” he says, nodding at me.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not sitting this gym session out, Trouble. Drop on the mat. Dead bugs and hollow holds. I want to see you lock that core in.”
The way he says “I want to see you”makes my stomach flip. I roll my eyes, but I do as I’m told. Nate crouches beside me, one hand braced on his knee, the other hovering over my ribs, ready to adjust me at any second.
“Press your back into the mat,” he instructs me, low, close enough that I feel his breath at my ear. “Good girl.” A smirk. “Now hold.”
Every nerve in my body sparks. I keep my face neutral, forcing a laugh. “Bossy much?”
He leans closer, his gaze dragging over my form. “Making it extra hard for you.”
My cheeks flame. Ryan whistles under his breath as if he’s watching a soap opera.
Leo picks up the rope and snaps into a fast boxer step. Heel-toe, light on the balls of his feet, rope hissing through the air. He drops a quick burst of double-unders, eyes never leaving us.
I finish the set. Nate offers his hand. His grip is tight, thumb stroking once across my palm before he lets go. Heat shoots up my arm.
Leo doesn’t break rhythm. The rope cracks once against the mat, deliberate. “Form looked fine from here.”
“You can be next, then,” Nate tosses back with a cocky grin.
And just like that, they’re back to their old rhythm—benching, spotting, pushing each other harder—two alphas circling, except I can feel the charge under every rep.
Ryan catches me watching and shakes his head. “One day. Maybe two. Before Nate’s got you spread across his bed. And don’t even try to deny it—I’ve had front-row seats to this show for years.”
I drop my voice, leaning close, grin curling wicked. “One step ahead of you, big brother.” I let it hang a beat, then add, sweet as sin, “Been there already.”
For a second, he blinks. Then his mouth splits into a wolfish grin. “Well, hell. Good for you, E.” He claps my shoulder as if I scored the winning goal. “About damn time, girl.”
He slings his towel over his shoulder, eyes glinting with mischief. “In that case? I give Leo twenty-four hours before he blows a gasket.”
By evening,the house buzzes. Antonio’s holding court in the kitchen with Dad as sous-chef, the two arguing about the merits of Himalayan versus coarse sea salt. Janice drifts between them and Mom, all easy laughter, tea swapped for wine.
I smooth my green silk dress as I step downstairs. A ripple of silence spikes my pulse as the chatter dipsand heads turn my way.
Noticing the change in the air, Nate looks up. His stare locks on me, dark and starving, flashing as it sweeps over my cleavage, hips, thighs. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, feigning composure.
This is not casual or friendly. It’s clear, unmistakable want.
Fire floods my face even as goosebumps chase across my skin.
Ryan chokes on his drink. “Well, would you look at that.”
