I nod, not trusting myself to speak without saying something I’ll regret.
“I want to check out the recovery facilities,” Gray says without meeting my eyes. “Meet you after?”
“Sure,” I agree, grateful for the chance to get myself under control. “Take your time.”
He nods and turns away, but I catch the way he adjusts himself as he walks away.
I watch him go, trying to remind myself of the rules we established this morning. Professional boundaries. No complications.
But as I head to the juice bar, all I can think about is how good his hands felt on my body, how much I want them there again, and how completely fucked I am if I can’t get this attraction under control.
11
Gray
The infrared sauna envelops me in dry heat that seeps into my muscles. I close my eyes and lean my head against the cedar wall, focusing on my breathing. The quiet hum of the sauna is the only sound in the private room. A luxury I’d never normally indulge in, but fuck it. After that workout with Wyatt, I need a moment to reset.
The heat is different from what I’m used to. No steam, just penetrating warmth that makes sweat bead on my chest and run down my stomach. I’ve stripped down to just a towel wrapped around my waist, my dog tags the only other thing on my body. They rest against my sternum, cooler than my skin.
My mind drifts back to the training floor, to Wyatt’s body against mine when I demonstrated that hold break. The unmistakable hardness pressing against me, matching my own. We both pretended not to notice, but there’s only so much denial two grown men can maintain when their bodies betray them so blatantly.
The door to the sauna slides open, and I open my eyes, expecting to see another gym patron. Instead, Wyatt stands there, a white towel slung low on his hips, water droplets clinging to his shoulders from a recent shower. He freezes when he sees me, lips parting in surprise.
“Oh,” he says, his hand still on the door. “I didn’t—I thought you were in the compression room.”
“Changed my mind.” I gesture vaguely at the empty bench across from me. “Heat felt better for my shoulders.”
Wyatt hesitates, his eyes darting from my face to my chest, down to my towel, then back up quickly. He’s already half-turning to leave. “I can come back later.”
“It’s fine,” I say, shifting slightly to make room though there’s plenty already. “Stay.”
He hesitates again, and I can see the internal debate playing out across his face. We’re both nearly naked, alone in a small, heated room. It’s not the smartest scenario for maintaining those boundaries we talked about.
But he steps in anyway, sliding the door closed behind him. The space feels instantly smaller, more intimate. He sits on the bench opposite me, our knees almost touching in the narrow sauna. The towel on his lap rises slightly at his crotch. I keep my eyes on his face.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence. “From the workout, I mean.”
“Like I got hit by a truck.” He grimaces, rolling one shoulder. “In a good way, though. I think. Ask me tomorrow when I can’t get out of bed.”
“First time’s always the worst.” I try for a casual tone. “Your body will adapt faster than you think.”
“Is that so?” A hint of that familiar smirk plays at his lips. “Sounds like you’re assuming there’ll be a second time.”
“Won’t there be?”
Wyatt’s eyes meet mine. “Yeah,” he says softly. “There will be.”
We lapse into silence. Sweat trickles down my temple, down my neck, pooling in the hollow of my throat. Wyatt watches it, his gaze tracking the movement. The heat in the sauna suddenly feels more intense.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, partly to distract him, partly because I’ve been curious. “Why exactly does someone like you need a bodyguard? Are you some kind of mafia prince I don’t know about?”
He laughs. “I wish. That would be more interesting than the truth.” He leans back against the wall, stretching his legs so that his foot grazes my ankle. He doesn’t move it away. “My parents just have too much money and zero trust in my ability to keep myself alive.”
“Is there a reason for that? The lack of trust?”
“Besides the fact that I’ve spent the last few years partying instead of doing anything productive?” He shrugs. “Not really. I’m just their only heir, so they’re overprotective.”
I nod, absorbing this. It’s strange to think about—parents so wealthy they hire security for their adult son, not because of any specific threat, but just as a general precaution.
