Page 76 of Gym With Benefits

The bedroom door clicked open, saving Hunter from a harsher reality check. David bounced back into the living room, his entire face practically glowing under the track lighting, his phone clutched to his chest like a holy relic.

"I need details immediately," my voice signaled the mandatory interrogation.

"He called!" David gushed, his eyes wide as he threw his hands into the air. "I ended up taking Hunter's advice about the text strategy, and it worked flawlessly. I officially have a date this coming weekend." He shot an appreciative look at Hunter. "The man is a romantic savant."

"See?" Hunter grinned, using the endorsement to bolster his position. "The data points toward the obvious choice. I am your best asset for this operation, Jess."

Across the room, Dane remained motionless against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest. His blue eyes locked onto mine, creating a quiet, unspoken pocket of space amidst the noise. The memory of his fourth-floor fortress hit me like a physical touch—the confession he made on that tobacco leather couch echoing in the silence of my mind. He admitted to falling in love with me. I still felt the knot of guilt in my stomach for leaving that declaration hanging in the air without a response.

The two men continued to bicker lightheartedly, trading barbs over who would look best in a tuxedo, oblivious to the silent communication passing over their heads.

Dane checked the face of his watch, his posture flattening back into professional parameters. "I'm calling it a night, people. Early meeting with the zoning board tomorrow." He turned his eyes back to me, the cool corporate veneer softening just a fraction. "You made the perfect choice with the dress, Jess. You look beautiful."

The hallway carpet muffled our footsteps as the door swung behind us, cutting the apartment volume in half. Dane turned in the narrow corridor, his hands reaching out to cup my waist over the cool emerald silk. He leaned down, pressing a sweet, lingering goodnight kiss to my lips that tasted of clean mint and none of the urgency from his living room.

He pulled back, his fingers sliding off my hips as he turned toward the elevator.

"I didn't say it back," the words left my mouth before my internal censor could flag the transaction.

Dane stopped. His shoulders stiffened under his tailored jacket. He turned back slowly, a rapid sequence of micro-expressions sweeping across his features—vulnerability, a flashof defensive pride, a calculation of risk—before the familiar, unreadable fixer mask slid back into place.

"It's not what you think," the follow-up came quickly, my fingers bunching a fold of the silk gown.

"You can read minds now?" a faint, dry edge colored his tone.

A humorless laugh bubbled out of me. "Only when the moon's full."

The stupid joke achieved the desired outcome. The tension evaporated from his jaw, a genuine smile cracking the corners of his mouth as he closed the distance between us. His thumb reached out, stroking the line of my cheekbone with a gentle, localized pressure.

"I didn't tell you that because I wanted to hear it back," Dane murmured, his voice dropping into a quiet, steady cadence. "I said it because I wanted you to know. That's all."

His mouth found mine again, obliterating the polite boundary of the previous kiss. This touch lacked the sweetness from before; it carried a tender, deeply passionate weight that pulled me forward into his chest. His fingers tangled into my hair, guiding my head back as his lips pressed me firmly against the painted drywall of the corridor. The heat of his body blocked out the chill of the hallway.

The voices from inside my apartment filtered through the narrow gap of the front door, left ajar by an inch. Brock and Hunter argued loudly over who controlled the playlist for the remainder of the evening, punctuated by Hunter's easy, booming laughter and Brock's lighthearted ribbing. The domestic, chaotic soundtrack provided a bizarre contrast to Dane's searing touch, his tongue tracing my lower lip with a blazing intensity that made my knees feel loose.

We broke apart, our breath mingling in the small space between our faces. The green silk felt tight against my chest as my lungs settled. It felt necessary to deliver the truest asset assessment available.

"I have an answer for you," my eyes locked onto his blue gaze, holding the stare against the hallway light. "But I don't know if you'll like it."

31

Jess

The cool fabric of the bench press pressed into my shoulder blades as twenty-five pounds of solid iron hovered directly over my collarbone. Capitol Fitness at eleven o'clock at night meant zero audiences, zero distractions, and a distinct lack of the usual daytime preening. The overhead fluorescent tubes buzzed a dry, monotonous hum that harmonized perfectly with the metallic clink of the weight stacks across the room. Giving myself permission to feel the full, chaotic spectrum of my feelings felt like letting a structural beam crack inside my chest—terrifying, but long overdue.

"Keep those elbows tucked, Jess. You're flaring," Brock’s voice drifted down from behind the bench press setup. His massive palms hovered an inch underneath the barbell, his presence a comforting, solid safety net. "Push from the chest, not the shoulders. Three more reps."

"My pectoral muscles are about to detach from the bone, Brock," the complaint left my lips in a breathless grunt as the iron rose toward the ceiling. "You're trying to kill me before the wedding so you don't have to watch me choose a date."

"Fewer complaints, more execution," Brock grunted, his hand gently tapping the center of my sternum to guide my focus. "Two more. Drive through the heels."

The bar touched my shirt, the cold steel grounding the burn in my muscles. Another hard press locked out the elbows.

"I like it," the confession tumbled out into the empty space between us before the bar even cleared the iron hooks of the rack. Sitting up required a massive effort from my core, my thighs swinging over the edge of the vinyl bench as I looked up into his broad, sweat-sheened face. "Dating the three of you. The whole absurd arrangement. I stopped trying to rationalize the math, and it turns out I actually enjoy it."

Brock grabbed a grey hand towel from his shoulder, wiping the moisture from his knuckles with a steady, unhurried precision. His green eyes searched mine, the casual gym instructor mask dropping away to reveal the simple, honest man underneath. "Figured you did. You haven't bolted for the exit yet, and you're a flight risk on a good day."

"Dane made his position pretty clear after the dance class," my fingers traced the knurling on a nearby dumbbell, the rough pattern biting into my skin. "He is looking for total asset management. I need to know where you stand on the ledger, big guy."