Page 86 of They Are Mine

What the actual fuck?

The trainer grins, taking it from her, peeling back the wrapper.

She beams up at him, all warm and sweet, like she’s delighting in feeding him.

That little thing is too fucking sweet.

She’s gonna get eaten alive in a place like this.

And I don’t mean by them.

I mean by me.

Because if she ever looks at me like that, if she ever offers me something from her soft, delicate hands, smiling up at me like I’m someone worth impressing, I’m gonna ruin her.

I set the weight down, slower than I should, roll out my wrists, shake off the tension creeping into my shoulders.

I need a cold fucking shower.

Instead, I grab my towel, wipe the sweat from my neck, and head for the water station.

Because I need to get closer.

Just a little closer.

She spots me.

And smiles.

Like I’m someone she wants to see.

Like she didn’t just crash into my life last night and take up real estate in my head.

She walks straight over, all soft curves and vanilla, same scent as before, like she just carries it with her, like the air around her is sweet by default.

I swear I can almost hear her gasping my name.

Orion.

Fuck.

I shove that thought down.

“Orion, hi,” she says, bright, easy. Like we’re old friends. Like she didn’t just meet me less than twenty-four hours ago. “Thanks again for last night.”

The way she says my name, soft and familiar, like it already belongs to her, makes something coil tight in my stomach.

I nod. “No problem.”

She shifts the bag higher on her shoulder, all delicate fingers and effortless movement. “You like sweets?”

I raise a brow. “Sweets?”

She giggles. A soft little sound that shouldn’t make my chest feel warm.

“I made cupcakes for a party at work,” she explains, unzipping her bag, “And there were leftovers. So I figured I’d bring them here. You know, post-workout sugar. Or is it pre-workout sugar? I don’t know. I only do yoga, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Yoga.

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