It's kind of a relief.
Jasper drives, because Ragon decided Eli needed to stay home and rest after a brutal week of shifts. We don'ttalk much on the way there. The radio hums low, some indie playlist Jasper uses to pretend he's less stressed than he is.
"You know you can say no," Jasper says finally, at a red light. "To the sessions. To the class. To any of this."
"I know."
"You willing to tell me if you want to?"
"Maybe," I say, which is more honest than yes.
He huffs a quiet almost-laugh. "Fair enough."
At the gym, he pulls into the same spot Eli did last time. "I'll be here when you're done. Text me if you want to leave early. Or if anything feels off."
"A dangerous alpha is not hiding in the supply closet. Relax."
His mouth quirks.
Inside, the studio is a different world—polished wood floors, mirrors, windows catching the last of the sunset. Pop music thumps low.
Jess waves me over the second she spots me. "Vee! You came back."
"Of course. I need to redeem myself for trying to salsa with two left feet."
"You were fine," she lies cheerfully. "Noah nearly tripped over his own tailbone."
"Rude," Noah says, bumping her hip.
He beams at me, curly hair damp at his temples. Tonight he smells relaxed, open; his alpha is stationed off to the side like last time, arms crossed, eyes tracking him.
We start warming up. Lunges, hip rolls, steps across the floor. My body still knows how to move.
The actual routine clicks better, too. The counts land where they're supposed to. Jess whoops loudly when I nail a turn.
"Look at you. Our little graceful defective."
"Please don't call me that," I say, half-laughing.
An hour later I'm breathless and weirdly light. The class breaks apart. Noah and Jess flank me as we head toward the benches.
"Hey, I want you to meet someone," Noah says suddenly, tugging at my sleeve.
He steers me toward the broad-shouldered man who's been stationed against the wall like a sentinel.
"Jonah," Noah says, pressing up against his side. "This is Vee—the one I told you about who actually laughs at my corny jokes."
Jonah's mouth curves immediately. "The omega that likes to bake. Hi."
"Hi. You're the long-suffering alpha?"
Jonah's eyes crinkle. "The suffering's worth it for this one." His thumb traces the curve of Noah's cheekbone, and Noah tilts his face into the palm.
Noah elbows him, fond. "He's the muscles, I'm the hormonal mess. It works out."
Jonah dips his head closer, nostrils flaring as he sniffs the air near me. Subtle, not creepy. Habit.
His brows pinch. "Are you a beta? You smell sweet, like an omega, but it's thin. Weak. Like you're on blockers or something. You look like an omega too."
