Chapter 51 Get a grip
By the time I’m lacing up my shoes, I’ve already tried to talk myself out of going to the gym at least three times. It’s not even about the workout, it’s the effort. The pretending I’m not running on a few hours of sleep and a head full of everything else. Still, I grab my water bottle, sling my keys between my fingers, and head for the door.
I’ve just started opening it when Josie’s voice pulls me back. She’s sprawled on the couch now, laptop balanced on her knees, her eyes fixed on the screen with that focused, zoned-in energy she gets when she’s editing. She doesn’t look up as she scrubbs through footage.
"I meant to ask," she says, her fingers pausing over the trackpad.
I stop, the door hanging half-open. "Yeah?"
She doesn't look up. "How are things going... at work?"
My gaze narrows instinctively. I feel that familiar prickle of defensiveness at the back of my neck. "Fine. The usual. Eva’s taking the lead tonight, so I don’t really have to—"
"I don't mean the club," she cuts in, her tone smooth but pointed. "I'm talking about the modeling gig. Is it good? Fun? Everything you thought it’d be like?"
I tuck a nervous hand into my pocket, the fabric of my gym shorts bunching under my palm. "Yeah... it’s good. I’m way more comfortable now than I was at the start. So, yeah. It's fun."
She nods slowly, her eyes still on her edit. "And the thing with your boss? Did you cut that off completely?"
I feel the air leave my lungs for a second. Why is she asking this now? My mind flashes to the brick building, the vodka, the way the back of Bastian’s hand felt against my skin. Does she know something? I run a quick mental inventory and realize it’s literally impossible.
"Mhm," I manage, the lie sounding like a lead weight. Josie looks up then, her eyes taking me in with a terrifyingly sharp focus before flickering back down to her screen. She doesn't push it, but the silence she leaves behind is loud.
"Okay," she says simply. "Have a nice workout. And remind Dante not to overdo it. He’s got that dance class tonight and he’s already complaining about his knees."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, forcing a lopsided grin to mask the tremor in my chest. "What about me?" I ask, my voice a little too light. "You don't care if I break a limb?"
She smiles faintly, eyes still on her screen. "Please. I know you'll only do the bare minimum."
"Ouch," I mutter, shaking my head as I finally step out. I’m safe for now, but her questions have a way of lingering. She didn’t believe me, I could see it in the way she looked back at her laptop. I’m lying to the only person who's always had my back, and all for a man who hasn’t even called yet.
Not that I want him to....
"Keep your elbows tucked, Kaden. You’re flaring," Dante grunts, hovering over me as I grind out another set. "Josie’s coming to the studio later, you should tag along. I’m running the advanced contemporary piece tonight...you know, the one with all the floor work you like."
Dante’s a freak of nature. He can go from deadlifting twice his body weight to moving with a fluid, haunting grace that makes most people look like they’re glitching. Usually, I’d be all over it, there’s just something about lurking in the back of the studio, watching him turn a room full of bodies into a living, breathing story.
"Maybe," I huff, my vision starting to go a little blurry at the edges. "If I don't face-plant the second I hit the couch—"
The buzz in my pocket is like an electric shock. I’m halfway through a rep, the bar hovering precariously over my chest, and I just... freeze. My muscles lock. The weight starts to dip.
"Whoa, easy!" Dante snaps, diving in to catch the bar and rack it. "You good?"
I sit up way too fast, my head spinning, sweat stinging my eyes. I’m a complete fucking mess. Shaky, out of breath, and entirely too obvious. I fumble for my phone, sliding it out just enough to see the name on the screen.
Bastian....
I’m on my feet before I’ve even processed the movement. "I... I have to take this. Work thing."
"Okay," Dante says, already sliding into my spot on the bench. He doesn't really look suspicious, just focuses on his own set as the gym's heavy bass continues to thrum through the floor.
I scramble toward the back, weaving past the squat racks and the cardio machines until I find a relatively quiet hallway near the locker rooms. My heart is a frantic mess. I press accept, the phone feeling slick in my hand.
“Hello?”
My voice comes out steadier than I feel. There’s no greeting on his end. Just..
"Where are you?"
The voice is direct. Vibrating with an authority that makes the noisy gym feel like it’s a thousand miles away. I lean against the wall, trying to find my voice again. "What, you don't know?" I ask, my sarcasm a flimsy shield for how on edge I am. "I figured you’d have a satellite feed by now."
"It would take me less than five minutes to map your coordinates, Kaden," he counters, his tone laced with a dark kind of patience. "Consider my asking an exercise in the very restraint you claim I lack."
I shake my head, a frustrated breath escaping me. "The gym."
"Your usual?"
My brow furrows. "The hell does that mean?"
"Titan & Grit on 4th," he says, like he’s confirming a detail, "Right?"
I don't respond. I can't. The silence is my only confession.
"I’ll take that as a yes,” he adds calmly, "I’m sending my driver to pick you up," there's the sound of papers rustling in the background, indicating he’s already moved on to the next task. "Be outside in ten."
"What?" I hiss, a flare of panic rising in my chest. "Fuck no! I’m with a friend, I have—"
He hangs up. The dial tone rings in my ear, mocking me. I stare at the screen, my reflection looking back at me....flushed, sweaty, and completely out of my depth.
I have ten minutes to figure out how to tell Dante I’m suddenly leaving, and how to survive whatever "headspace" Bastian Steele has decided to drag me into today.
I retreat toward the main gym floor, my sneakers squeaking against the polished concrete. On my way, I pass a full-length mirror and instinctively stall. I catch my reflection...hair damp and chaotic, face flushed from the exertion and the sheer audacity of that phone call.
I linger....
Just long enough to drag a hand through my hair, pushing it back, then immediately messing with it again like I can somehow force it into looking intentional instead of whatever the hell this is. I lean in slightly, squinting. Tilt my head. Adjust it again. Then....God, I actually dip my head a fraction, tugging my t-shirt up to catch my scent, gauge how sweaty I am.
I freeze and blink at myself before straightening abruptly. I drag my hand down my face, shaking my head once like I can reset whatever's wrong with me.
“Get a grip,” I add under my breath, already turning away from the mirror and continuing down the hallway.