My heart stutters, but I keep my face blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.” His smile sharpens. “You’ve got a type. I’m just trying to figure out where I fit.”
“You don’t.”
The words come out harder than I intended. Good.
His expression fades. The charming mask slips, just for a second, revealing something uglier underneath. Entitlement. Irritation. The look of a man who’s not used to hearing no.
“That’s not very friendly,” he says softly.
“I’m not here to be friendly. I’m here to do my job.” I grab my tablet from the counter and move toward the door. Toward him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
He doesn’t move.
For a long, uncomfortable moment, we just stand there. Him blocking the exit. Me refusing to back down. The air between us thick.
“Reed.” I keep my voice steady. “Move.”
He holds my gaze for another beat. Then he steps aside, hands raised in mock surrender.
“Relax, Wells. I was just making conversation.”
I push past him without responding. My shoulder brushes his chest as I go, and I hate how much I want to shower after that brief contact.
“See you around,” he calls after me.
I don’t look back. But I feel his eyes on me all the way down the hall, and the expression I glimpsed before I turned away?
It said this isn’t over.
• • •
I shouldn’t tell Zayden.
It’s not his problem. We’re not together—not really, not officially—and the last thing I need is him going full protective alpha and doing something stupid that gets him in trouble.
I can handle Grayson Reed. I’ve been handling guys like him my entire career.
But when I walk into the training room an hour later and find Zayden there—alone, stretching his shoulder, looking up at me with those dark eyes—it just spills out.
“Reed’s been... a lot,” I blurt out after our third round of stretches.
He goes still. Completely, unnaturally still, like a predator who’s just caught a scent. “What do you mean, a lot?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“That’s not what I asked.” His voice is low. Controlled.
I set my tablet down and lean against the counter, crossing my arms. “He asked me out. I said no. He didn’t take it well.”
“Didn’t take it well how?”
“Blocked the door. Got in my space.”
Zay’s nostrils flare. “What the fuck?”
“And he mentioned you,” I say finally. “Said something about how I’ve got a type.”
