I'm about ten feet from the door when Tank pauses mid-rep, the barbell frozen halfway through its descent. His nose twitches—actually twitches, like a wolf catching a familiar scent on the wind—and his brow furrows.
"Why do I smell our girl?"
Elias glances around the room, sees nothing, and rolls his eyes. "Because you're hallucinating now. Hurry up and press before your arms give out and I have to explain to Julian why you're in a body cast."
"I'm not hallucinating. I know what she smells like, and she's?—"
I push open the door to the private room and strike my most dramatic pose in the entrance. "Because I've arrived!"
Both of them whip their heads toward me—Elias with a delighted grin already spreading across his face, his whole body angling in my direction like a compass finding north. Tank wears an expression of vindicated satisfaction, the kind of smug that comes from being right when someone told you that you were wrong. It makes me want to laugh.
"Told you," Tank says, lowering the barbell back onto its rack with a heavy clang that echoes through the private room. He slides down the bench until he can sit up properly, his chest heaving slightly from the exertion, sweat rolling down his temples in a way that should probably be gross but is instead deeply unfair to my composure. His tattoos gleam under a thin layer of perspiration, the intricate designs almost seeming to move as his muscles flex and relax.
"Your nose is ridiculous," Elias mutters, shaking his head in mock exasperation. But he's already moving toward me, his eyes bright with that particular blend of affection and mischief that I've come to adore. His own workout shirt clings to him in places, damp with effort, and his scent—campfire smoke and pine and something uniquely, wonderfully him—reaches me even across the distance. "Sweetness! What are you doing here? I thought you were getting pampered with Ruby."
"I did get pampered." I skip toward them—actually skip, bouncing on my toes with each step, because I'm in a spectacular mood and I've had a massage and my nails are gorgeous and Iabsolutely refuse to be anything other than delighted about it. The gloomy events of this morning feel distant now, softened by the comfort of self-care and the knowledge that my pack has been handling everything in my absence. "And now I'm here to show off the results. Prepare yourselves."
I thrust my hands out in front of me with theatrical flourish, fingers splayed wide, presenting my nails like they're the crown jewels of a small European nation. Or at least a moderately impressive tiara.
Elias catches my wrists gently, pulling my hands closer to examine the manicure with genuine interest. His thumbs trace over my knuckles as he studies the design, tilting my fingers this way and that to catch the light, and I watch his expression shift from curious to genuinely impressed.
"Wow." He whistles low and appreciative, the sound sending a little thrill through me. "These are Valentine's themed. Look at the detail on these hearts—they actually shimmer when you move."
The nails are, if I do say so myself, absolutely stunning. A base of bright Barbie pink that catches the light like candy, bold and unapologetic in its femininity. Each nail is adorned with a red cat-eye heart that shimmers and shifts as I move my fingers, the magnetic polish creating a depth that makes the hearts seem almost three-dimensional. Delicate gold foil accents are scattered around the hearts like confetti at a party, adding a touch of luxury that makes the whole design pop. They're playful and romantic and completely over-the-top, which is exactly what I wanted after the morning I've had.
"Isn't it so pretty?!" I squeal, unable to contain my enthusiasm. My voice comes out higher than I intended, giddy in a way I usually try to suppress around people who aren't pack. But these are my people. I'm allowed to be excited. "The nail tech was amazing—her name was Destiny, which Ruby foundhilarious for reasons she refused to explain. She did this little technique with the cat-eye gel that makes the hearts look like they're literally glowing from within. And the gold foil? Hand-applied, piece by piece, with the tiniest tweezers I've ever seen. I almost cried watching her work, honestly."
Tank appears beside us, having risen from the bench with the kind of silent grace that shouldn't be possible for someone his size and mass. He moves like a predator—controlled, deliberate, every motion serving a purpose. He takes one of my hands from Elias, his massive fingers impossibly gentle as he turns my wrist this way and that, studying the manicure with the same serious attention he probably gives to threat assessments and security protocols.
"Very nice," he says, and the simple approval in his voice makes me beam. He smirks at my reaction, then releases my hand to pat his lap as he sits back down on the bench. "Did you enjoy yourself?"
The invitation is clear. The look in his eyes is even clearer.
He wants me on his lap. In the middle of the gym. Where anyone walking by can see through the glass walls. In front of all those Alphas who were staring at me earlier.
Bold move. I respect it.
I don't hesitate. I close the distance between us and climb right onto his lap, straddling him on the bench with my knees on either side of his hips. It's a brazen move—the kind of thing old Rosemarie never would have done, the kind of public display that would have made me shrink into myself with embarrassment. But I'm not old Rosemarie anymore. I'm someone who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to claim it.
Tank's hands find my hips immediately, steadying me, holding me in place with casual possession. His skin is warm and slightly damp from his workout, his scent amplified by exertion—earth and pine and that Alpha musk that makes my head spina little. Up close, I can see every line and shadow of his tattoos, every bead of sweat on his chest, every flicker of heat in his dark eyes.
I wrap my arms around his neck and lean in close, our faces inches apart.
"Yes," I say, answering his question with exaggerated enthusiasm. "I had averyeventful morning. After the scandalous vandalism situation, I got my nails done—" I wiggle my fingers near his face, making him smirk. "—and my toes, and anamazingfacial,anda massage. Sixty minutes of pure bliss. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I had a proper massage?"
"How long?" Elias asks, moving to stand behind me. His hands land on my shoulders, giving a light squeeze that makes me realize how much residual tension I'm still carrying. Even after the massage, there are knots that haven't fully released.
"Forever," I declare dramatically. "Literally forever. I don't think I've had a professional massage since... actually, I'm not sure I'veeverhad a proper one. My family considered that kind of thing 'indulgent' and my ex-pack considered it 'unnecessary.' So today was basically a religious experience."
Tank's fingers flex on my hips, and I can see the flash of something dark in his eyes at the mention of my past. He doesn't like being reminded of how I was treated before. None of them do.
"We should start giving you massages," Elias says, his thumbs digging into the tight muscles at the base of my neck. The pressure is perfect—firm enough to release tension, gentle enough not to hurt. "Regularly. Make it part of the routine."
I let my head fall back so I can look up at him, his face appearing upside-down above me. "If you start giving me massages," I warn, grinning, "I'm probably never going to leave the house."
He smirks down at me—or up at me, from my inverted perspective. "Maybe that's the point."
And then he leans down and kisses me.
