Page 69 of Gym With Benefits

“It's brooding,” Brock corrected, tossing a crumpled napkin at Dane’s knee. “Don't ruin the kid's chances with your dark-and-twisty philosophy. Some people actually like to have fun on a date.”

“Like you'd know anything about romance, Brock,” Hunter chimed in, leaning over to grab another beer from the cooler. “Your idea of a romantic evening is a double session of deadlifts and a protein shake with two straws.”

The laughter that followed filled the apartment, loud and unforced. Watching them trade insults, the reality of the situation settled into my chest with a surprising lightness. The exhaustion from the museum archives felt miles away, replaced by the heavy, electric presence of the three of them occupying my space.

By the time the fourth quarter entered the final two minutes, the score tied at ninety-eight, even David abandoned hisanalytical persona and yelled at the screen alongside Hunter. Brock yelled a string of colorful profanities at a missed free throw, his fist thumping the coffee table hard enough to make the beer bottles rattle.

Dane’s hand remained steady on my back, his thumb rubbing comforting strokes against my hip. I leaned my head against his shoulder, my eyes watching the final buzzer sound as the Celtics clinched the win.

Instead of reaching for keys or announcing an exit, Hunter rose from his spot on the main sofa, stepped across the rug, and squeezed onto the wide armchair leather on my other side. The tight fit forced my body flush against Dane's ribs while Hunter wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his chest. Brock stretched his legs out on the couch, locking his hands behind his head with an expression that suggested he planned to occupy our living room until midnight. Nobody showed any sign of leaving.

David chuckled from the kitchen doorway, clearly enjoying the sight of his roommate pinned beneath a mountain of gym-honed muscle, before he disappeared back inside to rinse the wing platters.

Hunter tilted his chin down, his blue eyes flashing with a soft, affectionate heat as he looked at my face. He closed the remaining distance and pressed his lips to mine, a slow, deep, cozy kiss that tasted of cedar and beer. My hand found the back of his neck, responding to the unforced sweetness of the gesture.

Beside us, the warm skin beneath my thigh stiffened into a rigid column.

Dane cut off the physical contact, his hand vanishing from my hip as he stood up from the chair in one swift motion. The leather hissed as the pressure released. He snatched his keysfrom the side table, his jaw clamped into a hard, defensive line that shut out the relaxed atmosphere of the room.

“Whoa, man,” Hunter pulled back from the kiss, blinking up at him in surprise. “Where's the fire? The post-game analysis just started.”

“I need to go,” Dane muttered, his eyes avoiding mine as he stared fixedly at the hallway entrance. “I have an early meeting with a restructuring client tomorrow. I need to review the files tonight.”

Brock frowned from the sofa, his casual posture tightening. “Come on, don't walk out like that. Stay for one more drink. You're fine.”

“I'm out,” Dane repeated, his tone clipped, refusing to engage with Brock's attempt to keep the peace.

I stood up from the chair, the sudden chill on my skin prompting me to follow him toward the door. “Dane, wait. Let me walk you down to the lobby.”

He stopped at the threshold, turning his head just enough to catch my gaze. The guarded wall in his dark eyes looked restored, blocking out the connection we shared on the lifting platform earlier in the week. “It's okay, Jess. I can manage. Stay with them.”

The front door clicked shut behind him before the sentence could even settle in the hallway.

27

Jess

The silver screen of my phone remained stubbornly dark on the locker room bench. Three outgoing calls went straight to voicemail last night, and the green text bubbles from this morning sat without a read receipt. Dane opted for complete radio silence, a classic corporate retreat tactic that made irritation simmer beneath my skin as I laced up my sneakers.

The main floor of Capitol Fitness bustled with the usual five o’clock madness. The metallic clang of iron plates and the steady thud of treadmills formed a wall of sound.

Dane stood by the cable crossovers, his back turned, the muscles of his shoulders tensing as he pulled the handles downward. The rigid set of his spine practically screamed a desire for isolation.

“Hey,” I said, stepping into his line of sight as he released the weights.

Dane picked up a gray gym towel from the top of the machine, wiped his neck, and adjusted his grip on the attachments without a single glance in my direction. He launched into another set of twelve, his movements mechanical, ice-cold, and perfectly detached. He looked right through me, treating my presence like a glitch in his workout routine.

“Dane. We need to talk about last night,” I muttered, leaning against the steel frame of the adjacent equipment.

The stack of weights slammed into the base with a loud clang. Dane unclipped the handles, retrieved his water bottle, and walked straight toward the free weight section without uttering a syllable. The silent treatment felt incredibly childish for a man who managed multi-million-dollar corporate restructures for a living.

Hunter blocked my path near the dumbbells, a concerned crease between his eyebrows. “Jess, let him cool down. He's spiraling. I tried talking to him in the locker room and he nearly bit my head off.”

Brock joined him, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze following Dane’s retreating form. “Want me to go shake some sense into him? He's acting like an idiot.”

“No,” I told them, placing a hand on Hunter’s forearm before dropping it. “This is between Dane and me. Go do your squats. I'll handle this.”

They hesitated before retreating toward the power racks, leaving the floor clear.