“Come on,” he says, his hand finding the small of my back as he guides me toward the entrance. “It’s freezing outhere.”
He pulls open the metal doors and music hits me right in the face, chased by the smells of sweat and a blast of heat. Liam tugs at the collar of my coat to get me to pull it off.
A few alphas are scattered around the space. The big scary kind that are all neck and no brains. None of them pay us any attention as Liam guides me deeper inside. My eyes go right to Beckett. He’s got a bar of weights across his shoulders, straining as he squats. His face is red with effort. His T-shirt clings to his body, soaked through at the collar and under his arms.
Pierce stands nearby, clipboard in hand. The tape across his nose is stark white. His black eyes don’t seem to be getting much better. Maybe he’s been getting punched in the face every other day. Should I feel bad about that? No, I shouldn’t feel bad about that, right?
Beckett spots us and almost crashes to the ground as the weights slip. But Pierce is right there, and they manage to get the weights on a rack. I can hear a few choice words from Pierce, which Beckett ignores and jogs over.
“Ash!” Before I can protest, I’m wrapped in a sweaty hug, and all I can smell is Beckett’s cinnamon, like cookies right out of the oven.
“I’ve got fifteen more minutes,” Beckett says, bouncing slightly on his toes. “But after that…”
“After that, you’ve got stretching and recovery. And some cardio. The dreaded bike because running is going to jiggle your little puppy brain too much,” Pierce cuts in, his voice firm. He turns to me. “He’s still on modified training after the concussion.”
“Are you…”
“I’m fine,” Beckett insists, rolling his eyes. “Doc cleared me. Pierce is just being—”
“Your trainer,” Pierce finishes, tapping his clipboard.
“A dick,” both Beckett and Liam say at the same time.
We all laugh, including Pierce.
“Get to it, I ain’t got all day.” Pierce smacks Beckett on the butt as he heads back for the weights.
“I need to take care of some paperwork,” Liam says, his hand brushing my arm lightly, making me shiver despite the billion degree temperature. “You good?”
“I’m good,” I lie. I don’t really want to be left alone with Pierce.
He nods, glancing between me and Pierce before heading toward the back of the gym.
And then it’s just me and Pierce, standing in silence as the gym’s noise swirls around us. We stand side by side, each of us determined not to look at each other.
“He’s showing off for you,” Pierce says finally, nodding toward Beckett. “Usually can’t get him to finish a full set without whining.”
Beckett moves to a new station, bending over to adjust the weights on a barbell. The back of his shorts ride up slightly, showcasing thighs built like tree trunks and a sculpted ass. I stare a beat too long.
“Hockey butt,” Pierce says with a smirk.
“What?” Heat floods my face. I’ve been caught.
“All hockey players have ridiculous glutes,” he explains, sounding almost professorial despite the amusement in his voice. “It’s from the skating stance. Years of driving force from a semi-squat position.”
“What’s a glute?”
“Ass, Ash.”
I look at him and crack up.
“Gluteus maximus. Glutes for short. It’s your butt muscle.”
“I wasn’t…” I start then stop, because the lie is so obvious it’s not worth finishing.
“Sure you weren’t. Nah, it’s cool. His ass is fine. I don’t mind sharing it with you. But if I stare at his ass too long, we’re all going to be in danger.”
I blink rapidly so that the image doesn’t get seared into my head. Danger. It’s Pierce’s scent that’s the danger. It’s so thick I can taste it.
