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“Stunt.” I put my hand over my chest, pretending to be offended. “First, if I wanted to sit on your face, I would’ve pulled my pants down first.”

The guy beside us drops a dumbbell on his foot and begins cursing and screaming in pain.

“Second, I’m sure most guys would’ve loved it if I had sat on their face.”

The guy on Roman’s other side says, “You can sit on my face anytime, doll.”

Roman points at him. “Shut the fuck up. Don’t speak to her. Or even look at her.”

He turns his attention to me. A vein throbs at his temple. “As far as you, Chaos, you⁠—”

“Your face is really red.” I step closer. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous? Are you⁠—”

“Because you look like you are,” I say calmly, watching his face grow redder. “Rage isn’t good for you.”

He glares at me.

“Fine.” A row of treadmills is behind us. “I’ll do cardio.”

His brows practically raise to his forehead. “You're wearing makeup.”

“So?”

“And your hair is down.”

I touch one of my curls. “Women are allowed to exercise with their hair down.”

“You aren't exercising.”

“I just got here.”

“You sat on my face.”

I grin. “Was it good for you⁠—”

“Go.” He points.

“So grumpy.” I shake my head.

“Get on the treadmill and leave me alone.”

“Bossy.”

“Callie.” He closes his eyes.

“Roman.”

They open. The look he gives me could make a weaker woman reconsider her choices. Fortunately, I've never been particularly burdened by good judgment.

His gaze drops to my sports bra, then my leggings, before slowly returning to my face.

My smile grows. “Are you checking me out?”

“No.”

“Liar.”