She looks sexy as hell, meanwhile I feel like a fucking professional wrestler. All I’m missing is a pair of lace-up boots, a bad spray tan, and a giant belt.
It’s nice Jo booked the gym for a private session, because it would be super awkward if anyone walked in on us dressed like this.
Sam snorts next to me, nodding at my erection. “You’re hopeless.”
“Hopelessly crazy about our girl.” I smirk. “If you didn’t want to see it, you should have given me something to wear besides a speedo. Just because it’s whatyouwear—”
Sam cuts in. “It’snotwhat I wear.”
Pointedly, I glance down athisshorts—the ones that match mine exactly, except in a dark green versus my burnt orange.
When Jo handed me the shorts this morning, claiming that Sam got them for me, I was skeptical, but figured he knew best out of all of us. She had practically begged us all to come down and do a few rounds with her, for “her own peace of mind.” We only have one more day until we go back to Thornfield, so I don’t blame her for wanting to make sure we can handle ourselves.
“Jo said Dec’s pack has a new, strict dress code for their gym…” he frowns, looking down at my ass.
I cover my sweet cheeks with my hands. “Excuse me, my eyes are up here, Daddy-O.”
He swats my hands away. “Shut up.” He bends down, squinting.
What the hell is he doing? “You should at least buy me dinner first—”
He turns, looking at West’s ass on his other side. His teeny weeny shorts are light blue, the same brand as ours. West takes a step back. “What the fuck—”
“Are you switching teams?” I tilt my head. “I’m a pretty open guy, but I’d rather you check with Jo first—”
“Son of a bitch!” He turns to face Jo, who currently has her legs wrapped around Kole’s neck, and not in a fun way.
Actually, looking at the way her thighs flex as she squeezes, I feel like that could bereallyfun for me.
“What’s the matter, Sammy-boy?” she pants, finally releasing Kole when he taps her leg. The little thrill that flitters through our bond has me arching a brow.
“Fuck,Lisichka,” Kole gasps, his hands going to his neck as he sits up. “You could not be any more perfect.” The Russian giant had to squeeze into a pair of sunny yellow shorts, and his own arousal is apparent.
At least I’m not the only one.
She winks at him. “Your form could use some work.”
Kole lets out a playful growl, but then Sam is clearing his throat. “Jo, where did you get the shorts you have us wearing?”
Her eyes widen innocently. “These? Standard issue, remember? Dress-code and all that.”
“So…” He prowls forward, and she scrambles to her feet, her eyes dancing with something that looks a hell of a lot like mischief. “You’re trying to tell me that ‘PoJ’—the letters stamped across all our asses—doesn’tstand for ‘Property of Jo’?”
She fights a smile, biting her lip. “So what if it does?”
“Dress code?” He arches a brow.
“Considerin’ I’m part owner of this gym, I believe I’m entitled to set a dress code.” She takes a step back, and he follows.
“You little brat,” the words come out a growl, and she continues to retreat, and that look in her eyes? Definitely mischief.
Even without the sense of thrill going through the bond, the six-foot-four Russian on the floor is proof that she could take down any one of us, but instead she’s inviting us to a little game.
“You say ‘brat’,” she huffs a breath when her back hits the padded wall, “I say ‘omega who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to get it’.”
“And what is it you want, Trouble?” His grin is feral as he cages her against the wall.
Damn, now I’m evenharder.
