He just doesn’t know my accommodation is lush with the capital L. And the discreet entrance helps keep my secret just that, a secret.
Leaving work early is a bonus, and it gives me a chance to find out if there’s a gym close by. Working at a bar is not going to be great for my workout regime, especially when everyone seems to stand around and eat the extras from the kitchen. Though fried food isn’t my favorite, I’m trying to wiggle my way into the team using any means possible. Even eating bad food.
I race across the street, dodging the rain by hiding under the shop awnings with all the afternoon commuters. I know the cabbie called this O’Connor territory, but it’s hard to align because, so far, I haven’t seen too many overt displays of criminal activities. Unless these guys are actually good at being criminals, which doesn’t happen often.
Around here, there’s nothing in your face suggesting mob activities are rife. Which worries me because that means I’m dealing with a smarter syndicate, or their bite is worse than their bark.
The usual feeling I’m being watched—as opposed to being followed—adds fuel to my theory that the O’Connors run a tight ship. I haven’t spotted a tail yet, but the telling burn in my tummy is the same instinct that has kept me out of some pretty messed-up situations. I’m not about to throw caution to the wind and ignore it.
Zig-zagging across the road, I walk back a few blocks before pushing my way into the middle of a crowd of people crossing at the traffic lights, walking with them down the street to the sign for the gym. I think the very nature of the city here—with its narrow roads and endless laneways, which are usually full of cafés and little shops—is the only reason I follow the sign down the alleyway to the gym.
It is well lit, and the people I pass on their way out of the building look like gym goers. Two good signs so far. Stepping into the foyer is like walking into the foyer of an art gallery. Thesmall area is dwarfed by the huge expanse behind the service desk.
Other customers are being seen to, so I walk closer to the workout area while I wait. The room is as massive as it felt when I walked in. The layout is pretty standard, with cordoned-off areas for different training. One corner is loaded with cardio machines, all appearing modern and well looked after. Next is a free weights zone, lined with mirrors on two sides, giving everyone the chance to watch form and physique. Diagonal from that is a full-sized boxing ring, and then the last quadrant is left empty but with all the props and equipment for stretching or personal training.
It looks great. And best of all, it doesn’t stink of testosterone and all the usual BS some gyms have. This is a gym where people come to work, not pose and take selfies.
Behind me, I feel and hear someone approaching, and I turn to meet them.
A young woman, dressed in an O’Connors Gym branded T-shirt. Her dimples are adorable, and her thighs are a testament to her work ethic. She scents faintly of mint, and it’s the lack of punch to her scent that sets her as a Beta.
“What do you think? You want me to do a walk around with you?” She’s super friendly, perfect for customer service.
“The only thing I haven’t seen are the bathrooms. Hey, I’m Tally,” I offer, holding my hand out.
She introduces herself then takes me on a walk around and explains the features of the gym. She also outlines when they do set periods for designation training. Pretty modern of them, but necessary too. Not everyone can work out in mixed designation gyms, especially when Omegas are close to their heat or Alphas are being overly Alpha-ish.
Once done, she takes me over to the counter to complete the paperwork. I skip a lot of the personal details, and it seems she’sworked with other Omegas wanting to protect their personal information.
The last item on her joining checklist and before I get a twenty-four-hour toggle is to show me where the emergency buttons are, and the Automated External Defibrillator in case someone working out suffers a heart attack. Her explanation about what to do if you ever need to use the AED is easy to follow.
I trail after her again, listening to her give me a rundown on the available trainers if I want a personal trainer before she shifts us in a more personal direction. With one last hug, she runs off to answer the phone that’s been ringing nonstop since I arrived.
I change before making my way over to the running machine. Setting a twenty-minute light run, I flick on an upbeat playlist to keep me distracted. The room fades away, as much as it can because being undercover always comes with a certain level of awareness, no matter the time, day, or situation. I finish up sweaty with a peaceful buzz in my head as I use the roll to do my lower back and thighs.
I’m so close to being finished, I start to get distracted by everything happening around me. Instead of focusing on what I’m doing, I get caught up watching people in the mirror. There are small groups of people working out together, lots of laughing, and the temperature in the room seems to be rising by how sweaty they are.
With the warmth comes a more obvious smell in the gym. You get used to the constant swirling of different scents, but sometimes certain scents rise up, becoming more intense than others. And that’s what has me sitting up, taking notice.
I think everyone meets people who appeal more than others. It’s not something you can properly define but you know by how they look, their presence, and their scent that they’re your typeof person. It’s similar to trusting your instincts. It’s something in the universe telling you to take notice.
Perhaps after working out for the first time in a while, my instincts are sharper, but without trying too hard, I locate the person who’s piqued my interest. Even from across the room, I’m drawn to him.
I’m on my feet the very moment I realize who it is.
My naughty neighbor from across the view is here, in the gym I just signed to be a member of. He’s had all his hair shaved off since I last saw him.
It’s unnerving, but there’s a part of me that wants to walk over there and interrupt who he’s with and berate him for cutting off his glorious hair. On the flip side, I really, really, really like how good he looks with short hair. He’s just as attractive with his head shaved as he was with longer hair.
I seriously want to do dirty things to him. He looks somehow even better than he did the other night. Although, that’s not quite true, because today he’s not naked and jerking off for me.
Still, I don’t think I’m in the right frame of mind to be doing the whole meet-and-greet thing. I duck into the bathrooms, grab a hoodie out of my bag, tugging it up to hide in, then I walk out without glancing his way.
I also hold my breath as I pass his general vicinity, not wanting to get any closer to his scent. I don’t want to spend the next few hours obsessing over his unique perfume, working out each note and analyzing how it makes me feel. The subtle, but impossible to ignore, hit of his scent I got from across the room is well and truly enough.
Nothing exciting happens on my way out, and I spend way too long in my head on the way home trying to figure out if that’s because he’s not interested and what I should do about it.
Even after a large bowl of pasta, my train of thought—him and only him—doesn’t stray. I end up having to make warm milk after a long hot shower and climbing into bed with it.
