Page 13 of Gigi and the Gym Rats

There are laundry lines on the only balcony, outside the kitchen. When the laundry is done, I hop off the machine, carry my dirty bowl to the sink and wash it, then return with a plastic basket to collect my clothes.

It’s on my way to the kitchen and the balcony that I’m intercepted by our new roommate.

Well, not exactly intercepted. Casey comes out of his room, looking down at his phone, and we collide.

The basket leaves my arms and crashes to the floor, spilling my wet laundry all over the floor.

And I sort of fall into Casey’s strong arms.

Oops.Can’t complain. A moment of weightlessness, a warm, strong body slamming into mine, his grip on me keeping me upright… His face is suddenly bowed over mine, so close, and his scent, so faint now underneath all the chemicals he uses on his skin and the suppressants he takes, is still heady enough to make me dizzy.

Dizzy with desire.

I always thought omegas were only compatible with alphas, that the scent matching only happened between them. Everyone says that betas don’t focus on scents at all.

Then why am I so attuned to scent? I know I’m a beta, one hundred percent. Never had any doubt there.

But now as Casey holds me, gazing down at me, the need to kiss him hits me so badly it’s a physical wrench in my guts.

My phone starts ringing in my pocket and that breaks the spell. I jerk back, he releases me, I stumble backward—and trip over my spilled clothes. I end up on my ass, blinking dazedly, my ass slowly but surely getting soaked.

“Shit, are you okay?” Casey reaches for me but this time I scramble to my feet on my own. “Let me help you.”

“I’m fine, really.”

He then starts collecting my clothes from the floor, and I appreciate it, I do, but…

“What is this?” He lifts a scrap of black lace. “A thong?”

“Don’t all girls wear thongs?” I grab it from his hand, heat rising up my neck.

“I don’t know.” His gaze glitters. “Haven’t been with girls.”

God, why do I find that so hot?

“I’ve only seen you dressed in sports clothes,” he goes on. “I hadn’t pegged you for a lacy thong kind of girl.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m a one-panty-category type of girl,” I mutter, dumping my laundry back into the basket. “I go out sometimes. Meet people. Have sex. You know. As you do.”

Now why did I have to say that? Don’t ask. My mouth often runs away from me when I’m nervous, as we’ve established.

His brows have crawled up to his hairline. “Is that so?” he breathes, and he lifts another thong from the floor, this one red. “I can imagine.”

“You can imagine me having sex?” I stare at him.

“Fuck.” He grins. “I meant I can imagine you have more facets than just the sporty girl, but holy shit…”

“Are you poking fun at me?” I demand.

“Christ, no. Just that imagining you in that thong… it’s…” Suddenly he turns about and heads back to his room. “Forget it.”

“Casey!” I call after him but his door clicks shut. “Wait…”

Come to think of it, he had seemed a little flustered. His scent still lingers. The feel of his arms around me lingers, too. Now I can also imagine what it would be like to press my body to his,sansclothes, run my hands up that hard chest, over those muscled arms. Kiss that pouty mouth, run my tongue over the fine stubble on his jaw. Push him down on his bed, straddle him and…

My phone starts ringing again. I check and it’s my mom.

Talk about a reality check.

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