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One thing about it; I had the place almost completely to myself. A couple of guys and a woman had trailed in over the course of the last half hour, heading for the free weights and the elliptical machines, respectively.
I finished my cool-down on the treadmill, enjoying the feel of my blood pumping through my veins even as my calves burned. After finishing five sets of lat pulldowns, I was adjusting the weights on the chest press machine when a fifth person came in. I spared him a quick glance, only to do a doubletake whenthe impression of ‘huge, musclebound Black guy’coalesced into recognition.
I froze in place at the same moment his eyes passed over me and held.
“Oh,” Emiel said. “Hey. Didn’t know you were a member here.”
I unstuck my tongue, reassured that he apparently wasn’t harboring any repressed urges to pound me into the floor on Mia’s behalf.
“Yes, for a few years now,” I replied cautiously. “I’m not usually here this early, though.”
He nodded, as though this made perfect sense. “Mm-hmm. Me neither.”
And with that, he proceeded to ignore me in favor of doubling my weight totals on the first machine in the circuit and settling in for his workout.
Aware that I was staring, I dragged my attention back to my own business. As a beta, comparing strength and fitness with an alpha, especially a male alpha, was a quick trip to an inferiority complex. Which wasn’t to say I hadn’t struggled with that kind of comparison when I was younger—yet another unwanted legacy from my adopted father.
Keep slingin’ those dumbbells around, boy. Maybe you’ll eventually grow enough muscles to be a real man.
I’d been in college when a girl I’d been dating had said something that really stuck with me. She’d pointed out that beta women and omegas felt the same way around beta men that beta men felt around alphas. There were individual exceptions, of course—but in general, there was a physical power imbalance between the two groups that crept into nearly every interaction between them, consciously or unconsciously.
She’d told me she wished every beta man would stop and ask themselves whether they’d treat a male alpha the way they wereabout to treat a female beta or an omega. At the time, it had resonated with me, making me think about things in a whole new way.
What beta dude would walk up to a male alpha they’d never met and put a hand on his lower back to move him out of the way? Or tell him that smiling would make him more attractive? Answer—one with a death wish.
However, that didn’t stop me from sneaking the occasional glance, becausedamn. Not for the first time in my life, I was thrust into the familiar conundrum of trying to decide if I found the man attractive, or if I was just jealous of that amazing physique.
I was resigned, at this point, to the idea that I wasn’t as straight as I’d always assumed I was. Would I have been happier never learning that about myself? Yes. Was the genie thoroughly out of the bottle after letting a hot guy ream my ass on three separate occasions? Also yes.
Redoubling my workout efforts, I told myself firmly that I would not be getting a hard-on at the gym while thinking about male alphas. For one thing, my primary emotion during both of my previous meetings with Emiel had been a not-completely-irrational fear of getting punched in the face.
Even now, I could make out the faint shadow of bruising along the alpha’s cheek and jaw. Unless he’d been mugged or something, this was a man who had experience with flying fists. He moved like a boxer; it wouldn’t have shocked me to learn that he fought professionally.
We finished our parallel workouts in silence. I hopped in the shower and then grabbed my bag, ready to head home for breakfast and a change of clothes. The alpha’s deep voice stopped me.
“You wanna grab a coffee or something?” he asked.
I paused, taken aback. “Um... sure?” I said, aware that the only thing we had in common was Mia. If he wanted to talk to me about something related to her, I needed to hear it. Especially after the disaster of a conversation I’d had with her the previous day.
He nodded, as though to himself. “Give me ten minutes to get changed. I’ll meet you in the coffee shop next door.”
Ignoring the hint of trepidation niggling at the back of my mind, I nodded and shouldered my workout bag, heading one door down in the strip mall to the conveniently placed twenty-four-hour coffee and donut shop. I recognized business acumen when I saw it—the place sucked up all the gym’s morning business, part of a virtuous cycle where tired gym bros felt entitled to a donut after burning all those calories on the weight machines, while also ensuring that they’d stay loyal to the gym to prevent the fat and sugar from ending up around their waistlines.
There was a line, even at this early hour, so I settled in to wait. I’d just reached the counter when the door jingled, admitting the alpha who might or might not harbor ambitions of breaking my nose.
“I’m just ordering,” I called to him. “I’ll get yours, too. What do you want?”
“Small iced caramel macchiato and a bear claw,” he said.
“One large black coffee, one small iced caramel macchiato, and one bear claw for here,” I relayed to the bored-looking barista.
“Name?” she asked.
“Nat,” I told her, paying and adding a generous tip to the jar.
Emiel had claimed a table in the back corner of the little shop. I joined him a bit warily.
“What do I owe you?” he asked, reaching for his wallet. He was dressed for work, apparently planning on heading straightto the youth center from the gym. By contrast, I was wearing a faded T-shirt and sweats.