Page 60 of Gigi and the Gym Rats

And seeing the two of them together,fucking hell…

Beating two orgasms out in my bed, plus one this morning in the shower, still hasn’t helped matters much. I’m still walking around giving the impression I’ve strapped a pole to my crotch.

And my mind is even worse. It’s as if I have a hard-onin my brainand no amount of jerking off can take care of that.

Which probably explains what happens next.

As if I need an excuse to have the hots for Casey Hunnam. He’s handsome as all hell, and I shouldn’t be thinking about him. Or Gigi. Or even that asshole, Zayne from the gym.

Not when I know I should be talking to Grey.

You had a simple arrangement with him, nothing more. He was aware of it. It was made clear from the start. The only thing between you was sex,issex. Fucking. Screwing. Plain and simple.

And yet.

I can’t help thinking of the wide grin he gave me when I finally gave in and went to meet him at that bar. The pleasure in his eyes because I turned up. The way his strong body went pliant against mine as I kissed him.

The paleness of his face as he had hurried away.

The awareness that now, as always, he deserved more from me. Better than me. That I could give him more if I could pull my head out of my ass. If I wasn’t pissing myself thinking I feel something for him.

Or for Gigi.

Or anyone.

That’s my mindset when I enter the bathroom today, much later than usual. That I’m hard for all of these people and I shouldn’t be, that I’m somehow feeling things for them when I can’t be, and that I’m making a mess out of this.

I’ve already foregone my morning run, seeing as I barely slept a wink all night, and I’m grumpy and bleary-eyed and yeah, fucking hard, when I shove the half-closed bathroom door open and stagger inside.

Only to find Casey at the sink, eyes wide in the mirror as he stares back at me. His face is pale, dripping water, dark circles under his gray eyes.

“Dammit. Sorry, door was open, I thought…” I shake my head. “Never mind. I’ll leave you to it.”

But something keeps my feet glued to the spot. Something about the look in his eyes, the tightness in my chest.

“Are you all right?” I ask. My nostrils flare, catching a faint whiff of his scent, that unmistakable vanilla lacing it. It’s not too much, though, and certainly not the scent of an omega going into heat, so it makes no sense that my dick twitches, interested.

Engaged.

He nods. Slowly turns around to face me, gripping the edge of the porcelain sink. His bare feet slip a little on the tiles and I grab his arm, keeping him steady.

A blunder.

A miscalculation.

Touching him is a punch to my gut. I’d avoided it until now—avoided him—but now he’s solid and real under my fingers, muscles shifting in my grip.

I’ve stepped closer to grab him and we’re almost chest to chest—he’s a good head shorter than me, slightly taller than Gigi, by my guess. The shimmer in his eyes is easy to see from up close, as is the fear flashing through his gaze before he looks away.

“What’s wrong?” I ask softly.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t look too good. Are you sick?”

“No, I…” A small shake of his head. “Bad night, is all.”

I can relate, but he looks worse than a night of bad sleep can justify. I don’t think he’s telling me the whole truth. Not that he owes it to me or anything.

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