Page 67 of Gym With Benefits

“It's a beautiful miracle,” David purred, his pride radiating through the digital line. “You finally joined the land of the living again instead of playing the tragic ghost in the basement. Honestly, I'm admittedly jealous that those three alpha specimens are willing to share you without throwing each other out a window.”

“Me too,” I said, a soft smile spreading across my face as I settled into my rolling chair. The memory of the boutique fitting room flashed through my mind, a delicious wave of heat settling deep in my core. “I can't believe how I've lucked out. It defies all logic.”

“Enjoy the bounty, Jess. You earned every single bit of it,” David said, his tone warm. “Now go restore some dead textiles. I want the full breakdown tonight.”

The line clicked dead, leaving the quiet hum of the climate control system as my only companion.

The fluorescent lights hummed above the examination table, casting a sterile white glow over Constance’s 1922 journal. A pair of blue latex gloves coated my fingers, preserving the fragile, yellowed pulp of the pages.

The encounter with Carter in the lobby still echoed in the back of my mind, a strange aftertaste that made the quiet of the basement feel different. All those years, the internal narrative insisted his affair with Amberleigh ruined my capacity for affection. The betrayals of my twenties functioned as an absolute guarantee that my heart remained a closed book, permanently damaged by the fallout. Seeing him today broke that illusion into small, insignificant pieces.

My spatula gently separated the linen lining from the rear leather binding of the diary. A tiny, folded scrap of parchment slipped out, landing against the black presentation mat with a soft scrape.

Faded iron-gall ink covered the surface, the elegant, slanted handwriting belonging to 'R'. My chest tightened with curiosity as I leaned under the magnifying lamp to decipher the delicate script.

Constance,

The autumn frost arrived early at the orchard, yet my thoughts remain warm, caught between the memory of you and the sweet laughter of our dearest Daisy. I never thought it possible to love one soul as deeply as I love you, only to find my heart possessed ample room for one more. If you should run into Daisy at the rally on Friday, send her all my love, and all of it to you just the same. We three built a sanctuary of our own.

Yours, R.

The brief lines hung in the quiet room, a century-old confession that hit me with a profound wave of clarity. The historical evidence stared back at me, an unmistakable blueprint from the 1920s proving that affection lacked a strict quota.

A slow smile touched my lips as the realization locked into place. The old rulebook about choosing a single path belonged in the trash. There was room enough in my heart for Hunter, Brock, and Dane.

Just the same.

26

Jess

The deadbolt on the apartment door clicked back, the sound lost beneath the loud, masculine roar erupting from the television in the living room. Exhaustion clung to my limbs after a grueling ten-hour stretch in the sub-basement sorting 18th-century embroidery samples, a schedule that ruined my chances of making the evening lifting session at Capitol Fitness.

The sight inside our small apartment derailed every expectation of a quiet night on the couch with a box of takeout.

Brock and Hunter occupied the long leather sofa, their massive frames pushing the limits of the cushions as they shoved each other over a close replay on the screen. Dane sat slightly apart in the armchair, a sweat-slicked bottle of IPA balanced on his knee, his posture carrying a trace of his usual guarded reserve. David bustled between the coffee table and the kitchen counter, a bright, manic grin on his face as he arranged bowls of pretzels and Buffalo wings.

“What’s happening here?” I demanded, dropping my tote bag onto the entryway bench.

“Jess! You're just in time,” David squealed, gesturing toward the screen with a bottle opener. “It's a big game, and big games are always more fun with a crowd.”

Suspicion hardened my expression instantly. I crossed my arms, looking from David’s pristine, un-sweated designer tracksuit to the massive flat screen. “Oh yeah? Who's playing?”

David gaped at me. His mouth opened and closed like a stranded goldfish before he flicked a desperate, pleading look toward Hunter for assistance.

“The Celtics and the Heat, Jess,” Hunter supplied with a soft chuckle, shaking his head at David's complete exposure.

“Right, exactly, what he said,” David recovered quickly, trying to breeze past the blunder. “The point is, I hit the gym after work—a total shocker, I know—and I ran into the boys. Since you always keep them tucked away in that weight room like a hoarded collection, I took it upon myself to invite them over for game night.”

Brock leaned back, a lazy smirk touching his lips as his blue eyes raked over my rumpled work pants and the loose bun atop my head. “He caught us right after the five o'clock rush. Didn't think you'd mind the company.”

“We brought the beer,” Dane added from his armchair, his voice a smooth rumble. He raised his bottle in a mock toast, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a private, smoldering heat that referenced our encounter on the lifting platform.

The familiar dynamic between the three men filled the room, a layered history playing out in the space of a few feet. Hunter and Brock engaged in their effortless, lifelong shorthand, trading friendly insults about a college basketball bracket, while Dane watched them with the careful precision of a guy who only joined the inner circle three years ago. He still viewed them as the competition in this bizarre new landscape, his shoulders held tight.

“Let me remind you, Jess,” David chimed in, leaning close enough to nudge my shoulder, “if I hadn't given you my free trial membership card three months ago to pull you out of your funk, you wouldn't even know what a barbell looked like. Technically, these fine specimens are my fault. I deserve to reap the social benefits.”

Bewildered, I stared at the arrangement on the couch. The three men currently dominating my romantic portfolio sat less than five feet apart, sharing snacks and discussing defensive fouls in my living room. It defied every boundary of traditional dating logic.