As I drop off my clothes with a polite nod to the attendant, I make my way to the gym, hoping for a bit of cardio to clear my head. The gym is quiet except for the clanking of weights from the far end, where Misha and Oliver are engrossed in their workout.
Of course, they’re here.
It’s not the first time I’ve encountered them in the gym. Most of the time, Grey is with them too. But until now, they hadn’t had a reason to talk to me.
Now they do.
Thankfully, they haven’t spotted me yet.
Grateful for the anonymity, I slip quietly to the row of treadmills, selecting one on the end. Plugging in my earphones, I start a moderate jog, crafting a cocoon of privacy around myself. I decide to play “Float On” by Modest Mouse—and yes, it’s partly because I’m curious to know what kind of music Misha enjoys.
It’s okay to be curious about them as long as they don’t notice.
I’m just going to do my little cardio session, and in half an hour, I’ll be gone again. At least, that’s the plan until just a few minutes later when something—or rather someone—demands my attention, pulling me back from the edge of my introspective bubble.
A persistent sensation of being watched prickles the back of my neck so strongly that I can’t help but glance over my shoulder. There, just beyond the row of treadmills, stand Oliverand Misha. Oliver’s gaze is fixed awkwardly on the ceiling tiles while Misha sports an unmissable grin, obviously trying to catch my attention.
Curiosity piqued and slightly anxious, I hit the stop button on the treadmill. As the conveyor belt slows, I stand and pull off my headphones, abruptly cutting off the music. The treadmill belt continues to creep backward, and I find myself delivered right to the end, forcing me to hop off awkwardly.
The momentum almost sends me crashing into Oliver, who instinctively reaches out to steady me by grasping my upper arms. His touch is unexpected—electrifying even—and it steadies more than just my physical balance.
He’s so damn handsome.
Oliver’s taller than me, his presence enveloping, and as I look up, those earnest eyes lock onto mine like never before. My breath, which had been steady from the jog, catches in a sudden hitch, and my heart kicks against my chest.
But he doesn’t seem to breathe at all.
“S-sorry,” he finally breathes out, his voice low and unexpectedly shaky. Squeezing my arms gently, he releases me almost immediately, stepping back to put some distance between us.
I sway forward, my body reacting before my mind catches up, the words hovering on the tip of my tongue.No, please stay. But I catch myself just in time, clamping my lips shut. Instead, I force a smile, hoping it masks the sudden rush of longing that nearly slipped out.
They’re both sweaty from their workout. Oliver, sans glasses, is wearing black shorts and a forest-green shirt—the same shade as his eyes—that clings to his chest from perspiration. There’s a hint of musk, an undercurrent to the clean, fresh-laundry-type smell that seems to be his scent. It’s unexpectedly appealing,a fragrance I’ve come to recognize in our brief passing and, without meaning to, crave whenever he’s near.
Misha’s grin doesn’t wane when I finally manage to look away from Oliver. He looks every bit the part of the carefree spirit in his gray sweatpants and tight red shirt that shows how undeniably fit he is, and his hair is a curly mess as usual.
“Sorry, we didn’t want to interrupt your workout,” Misha apologizes, scratching the back of his neck. “We probably should’ve waited somewhere else.”
“It’s fine,” I manage to say, hoping my workout flush blends seamlessly with the heat creeping up my cheeks. Oliver’s ears are a telltale red, too, possibly from the workout, or maybe it’s the awkwardness.
This is generally awkward, right? Not just for me?
Misha’s laughter rings out, rich and full, easing some of my discomfort. “Amelia, the smart home girl, right? We’ve seen you around but never really got the chance to talk.”
Well, there wasn’t a reason for them to learn the name of thesmart home girlor talk to her before now. The nickname grates on me. I understand he’s trying to keep the mood light, but I didn’t pour years of study and work into a male-dominated field to be reduced to that.
Oliver shoots Misha a dark look, and I can almost feel his discomfort at the casualness.
“It’sDoctorSmart Home Girl,” I correct, crossing my arms defensively. As soon as the words leave my mouth, though, I inwardly question my boldness.
What’s wrong with me?
I’m not usually this defensive. Or perhaps I am, and it’s just that my interactions are so limited that I’ve never had to confront this side of myself. Being assertive isn’t my default. I’m more about blending in and keeping the peace. Yet, here I am,thrown off by a nickname that feels diminishing, despite Misha’s likely harmless intentions.
“I apologize. That came off wrong,” Misha continues, his tone seemingly genuine. “We really do respect what you do. Right, Oliver?”
Meanwhile, Oliver seems to shrink a bit more into himself, his discomfort palpable, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for possibly making the situation even more uncomfortable. But he nods, his voice barely above a whisper as he finally meets my gaze. “Absolutely. We’ve followed some of your integrations. They’re innovative.”
I scowl.
