Asher’s POV
The hotel gym should be empty at this hour.
That's what I tell myself as I push through the heavy doors. Late evening. Most players are resting before tomorrow's game. Sensible professionals preparing for what matters.
The fluorescent lights hum overhead. Harsh and unforgiving. The smell of rubber mats and industrial sanitizer fills my lungs with each breath.
I scan the room, ready to claim my solitary punishment.
Then I see him.
Blaze. On the bench press. Mid-set. Muscles straining beneath a sweat-dampened shirt as he pushes the weighted bar upward with controlled precision.
Our eyes lock across the empty space. The air around us thickens, changes the aura, and becomes something difficult to breathe.
Neither of us speaks. The silence stretches thick and heavy between us. Weighted with everything that's happened.
I should leave. Turn around and walk out. Find another way to burn off the restless energy crawling beneath my skin like insects.
Instead, I walk to the treadmill on the far side of the room. Maximum distance with minimum acknowledgment. Pretending like he doesn't exist.
Blaze returns to his weights without a word.
Tonight feels different.
No lingering glances heavy with lust. No stolen looks at sweat-slicked skin that make my chest ache with unwanted memories. No undercurrent of desperate longing pulling us together.
This is something rawer. Stripped of pretense and romantic delusion. Pure competition. Primal in ways that have nothing to do with attraction or history.
Two alphas sharing territory neither will cede.
I start running. Easy pace at first. Warming up muscles that don't really need warming. My eyes find him in the mirror's reflection without my permission.
Blaze adds more weight to his bar. Twenty pounds. The plates clang together as he settles back against the bench.
I notice. Of course I notice. I push my speed higher in immediate response.
He lifts with those obvious controlled reps. Perfect form that speaks to years of discipline. The veins in his forearms stand out with each powerful press upward.
I run faster. Lungs starting to burn. Legs eating up distance that goes absolutely nowhere.
Blaze moves to the cable machine. Pulling harder than before. Muscles straining visibly against the resistance. Sweat darkening the collar of his gray shirt.
I abandon the treadmill entirely. Switch to free weights instead. Grab dumbbells heavier than I should be lifting with my current form. Feel the strain immediately in my shoulders and biceps.
Don't care. Can't show weakness. Not tonight. Not in front of him.
How much can you bench? The thought rises unbidden from somewhere competitive and petty. I can do more.
How fast can you run? I can go faster.
The unspoken competition becomes everything. Silent and brutal. Neither of us is willing to stop first. Neither willing to be the one who breaks.
No words pass between us. Just glances that communicate challenge. Heavy breathing filling the empty space. Muscles burning with exertion that borders on self-punishment.
I curl until my biceps scream for mercy. He rows until his back glistens with sweat. I squat until my thighs shake uncontrollably. He lunges until his calves visibly tremble.
The gym equipment becomes our battlefield. Every machine a challenge issued and accepted. Every weight a weapon wielded with precision.
My shirt is soaked through. His clings to his torso like a second skin. We're both pushed past reasonable limits.
Finally, Blaze racks his weights. The sound echoes through the room like a gunshot shattering glass.
"What you did to Sophie was out of line."
His voice breaks the silence so suddenly I nearly drop my dumbbell. I set it down carefully. Buy myself precious seconds to compose my expression.
"She's hiding something."
"She's innocent." Blaze turns to face me fully. His jaw is tight with anger. Eyes hard as stone. "Deal with your own problems."
The audacity of that statement makes me laugh. Bitter. Hollow. Completely humorless.
"My problems?" I shake my head slowly. "That's rich coming from you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means your perfect little girlfriend isn't as clueless as she pretends to be."
Something shifts in his expression. Darkens dangerously. The competitive tension from our silent workout transforms into something far more volatile.
"Take that back."
"Make me."
He shoves me back hard. Both hands flat against my chest. I stumble backward into the weight rack with a crash.
I shove back. Harder. Send him crashing into the cable machine. Equipment rattles violently. Then fists fly.
My knuckle connects with his jaw. Pain explodes through my hand. His elbow catches my ribs in retaliation. Agony blooms across my side but I don't stop.
We grapple. Crashing into equipment. Knocking weights loose from their racks. Dumbbells clatter to the floor around us like falling debris.
Blaze hooks his leg behind mine. A wrestling move. The world tilts sideways. We both go sprawling.
The floor is cold and unforgiving beneath my back. The impact knocks the wind from my lungs completely.
Blaze lands on top of me. Groin to groin. We both freeze.
It wasn't intentional. Just momentum and physics. Bodies colliding in combat without thought for where they'd land.
But neither of us pulls away.
His weight pins me to the mat. His chest heaves against mine. His breath comes in ragged gasps that ghost across my face like phantom kisses.
My body responds before my brain can intervene.
Heat floods through me, pooling low in my belly like it always has been. Growing undeniable against my will. I feel myself hardening against his thigh and there's nothing I can do to stop the betrayal.
Worse—I feel him responding too. Feel the evidence pressing against my hip through thin layers of fabric. Growing with each hammering heartbeat.
Instinct overrides reason completely.
His hips shift slightly. Unconsciously seeking. Mine answers without permission. A muffled groan escapes my throat. I can't hold it back. Can't pretend this isn't affecting me on the most basic level.
Blaze's breath hitches audibly. His eyes squeeze shut for a tortured moment. When they open, they're dark with conflict. Burning with the same desperate hunger I'm trying so hard to deny.
"This means nothing." His voice is rough. Completely wrecked.
"Nothing," I agree immediately. Automatically.
Neither of us moves for a moment. Then his hips roll again. Involuntary. Seeking friction his mind doesn't want but his body craves desperately.
I arch up to meet him. The pressure builds between us. Hardness meeting hardness through sweat-dampened fabric.
"We should stop," he breathes against my face.
"Definitely."
Another roll. Another grind. Another wave of sensation that steals my ability to think straight.
Our bodies say everything our mouths deny. Every shift of his hips confesses what his words won't admit. Every answering movement from mine reveals the lie in my agreement.
The truth crumbles with each involuntary grind. Each desperate breath shared between us. Each moment we stay frozen in this position instead of pushing apart like we should.
We're still fighting it. Still pretending this is nothing. Still insisting we're enemies who feel nothing but competition and contempt for each other.
But the truth is obvious.
And absolutely terrifying.