Jess flings a towel around her neck and fans herself. "If I can move tomorrow, I'll be back. Vee, right? You coming?"
"Yes. I think I am."
Noah brightens. "Okay, good. I don't want to be the only new kid. Safety in numbers."
Jess sticks out her hand. "Numbers in our case being three, but we'll take what we can get."
"I won't ignore you," I say, shaking her hand. Her palm is warm and callused, nails electric blue and chipped.
"Noah." He offers his hand too, quick and nervous. "Obviously. You knew that. Sorry. Brain's still doing the choreography."
"It'll catch up. By week three you'll be correcting the teacher."
He laughs. Jonah appears in the doorway, looming large and unmistakably alpha.
Noah rolls his eyes. "Here we go."
Jonah doesn't stride in or grab him. He just stands there, hand outstretched for Noah's bag, gaze scanning every face.
Jess lifts her eyebrows at me. "Overprotective?"
"Over-prepared. He'll relax once he trusts the door hinges."
She snorts, nearly choking on water.
We gather our things. Noah goes to Jonah, who murmurs something too low for me to catch. Noah bumps his shoulder into Jonah's side, affectionate and exasperated. Jonah's hand lands on the back of his neck, anchoring.
It doesn't make my chest hurt the way it would have a few weeks ago. It just looks like a foreign movie I don't speak the language of anymore.
Jess checks her phone. "I've got a ride coming. You?"
"Someone's waiting outside. He'll survive."
Jess grins. "See you guys next time?"
"Yes," I say again, surprised at how much I mean it.
We split at the door. I veer toward the side hallway that leads past the weight room. The air here is cooler, tinged with iron and effort.
I'm halfway past a row of benches when someone says, amused and unmistakable:
"Little omega."
My body freezes before my brain can tell it not to. The nickname lands with the weight of a memory: a zoo, a penguin enclosure, a hand on the back of my neck.
I turn slowly.
Chase sits on a weight bench like he owns the entire row. Tank top, sweat-darkened at the collar. Grey shorts. Forearms roped with muscle. He's wiping down dumbbells with a towel, but his eyes are all for me.
They rake me up and down once. Assessing. Checking.
"You," he says, like a pleasant surprise. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"I could say the same."
He huffs something like a laugh. "This place has decent equipment. And a terrible smoothie bar. I'm here for one of those."
"I'm guessing it's not the smoothies."
