Ronan’s hand slid from Jace’s, smooth, effortless, forgettable if not for the subtle warmth lingering at the tips of his fingers. It shouldn’t have stayed with him, but it did. He told himself it was nothing, just a handshake. Just politeness. Still, he caught himself rubbing his thumb against his palm as he turned to leave, as if trying to wipe away something that wasn’t really there.
The hallway beyond the lounge was quiet, sterile in that corporate-clean way gyms always were. He walked without rush, letting the rhythm of his sneakers echo faintly against the floor. Every step was precise, spine straight, jaw slack with practiced ease. A model’s walk, even now- unintentional, ingrained. It was hard to unlearn habits that were rewarded with paychecks and praise.
He passed a pair of women near the free weights. One nudged the other, subtly nodding toward him. He didn’t look, didn’t need to. He’d felt it a hundred times before—that soft hush of recognition, the buzz of eyes lingering on his frame, the private whispers.
He’s taller than I thought. He’s so thin. God, look at his skin.
He hated how aware he was of it. How deeply conditioned. A small part of him wanted to snap, to yell, to break the illusion. But he didn’t. Instead, he adjusted his shirt and ran a hand through his onyx hair, tousling it just enough to look perfectly undone.
When the gym doors opened to the outside world, the air hit him like a balm. Crisp and cool, with the faintest bite of spring still clinging to the breeze. His shoulders loosened. A breath, deeper than before, finally made it into his lungs. He didn’t realize how tightly he’d been holding himself. Ronan shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking down the sidewalk. The sun was low on the horizon, spilling gold across glass windows and casting long shadows over the concrete. His sneakers clicked in time with his thoughts—slow, heavy.
The smoothie. The smell.
He could still remember it, thick and cool, the faint bite of citrus under the mellow sweetness of banana or maybe strawberry. The tang of Greek yogurt. Rich. Real. It had made his stomach ache in the way that hunger does when you know you can’t satisfy it. He hadn’t even realized how long he’d stared at the glass. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? He couldn’t afford to want. Not really. He’d trained himself to feel hunger and ignore it. To crave warmth, softness, indulgence—and walk away. His metabolism made sure of it. His career demanded it.
He didn’t hate Jace for offering it. That wasn’t what stung. What stung was how easy it would’ve been to say yes. How safe Jace made it seem. And that was a problem. Because people didn’t offer things without expecting something in return. No one was generous just to be kind. Not in his world. Not with him.
He didn’t even realize Addison had fallen into step behind him until they were halfway down the block. She must’ve slipped out just a few moments after him, quiet as always, but impossible to ignore once she was at his side. He only noticed because of the sound—the soft clink of glass tapping lightly against her rings. He glanced over and saw that damned smoothie. It was held delicately in her hand like it was some kind of peace offering.
Ronan’s jaw clenched before he could stop it, tension biting through the hinge like a fault line. A quiet exhale slipped through his nose, controlled but sharp. Of course she had accepted it. Of course she had to.
As if he needed a reminder of what he’d just turned down. Of what he could’ve had if he weren’t bound by the strictness of his own discipline—or worse, someone else’s version of it. He looked away before the scent could reach him again. "I didn’t ask for that," he muttered, more to the air than to her. The words came low, flat, coiled tight with something unspoken—frustration, maybe. Resentment, even if he couldn’t quite decide who it was aimed at.
Jace, for offering it? Addison, for taking it? Himself, for wanting it? He didn’t know. Not yet. But the tightness in his chest didn’t go away.
Ronan sighed as he approached the corner, the breeze teasing the hem of his coat. He pulled out his phone, checking the screen. His schedule glared back at him in blocks of gray and blue. Productive. Precise. Punctual. Just like him. Three meetings tomorrow. A brand shoot. A dinner he didn’t want to attend but couldn’t afford to skip. Addison would keep him moving, keep him clean and polished, perfectly marketable. That was her job. And she did it damn well.
He dropped his gaze and kept walking.
Four-fifty per session. Jace hadn’t even blinked at the price. No hesitation, no negotiation, no "That’s steep." Just a smile, a handshake, and eyes that saw too much. That wasn’t normal. Not in this city. Not in this industry. Not with him.
He thought about Jace’s face as he’d leaned against the counter, casually drinking that protein shake like they were just two guys chatting. Normal. Easy. Friendly. But there was something beneath the surface—something too calm, too even. Too focused. Ronan had seen enough masks in his life to recognize when someone else was wearing one. He just couldn’t tell what Jace was hiding behind his.
Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s everything.
He reached the black town car idling at the curb. His driver stepped out and opened the door, but Ronan hesitated for a second, glancing back toward the gym. The glass doors shimmered faintly in the evening light. He couldn’t see inside—but he could imagine Jace still standing there, still smiling, still watching. He shook the thought away. No one was that obsessed. No one cared that much.
...Right?
With one last breath, Ronan ducked into the car, the soft leather interior welcoming him like an old secret. As the door closed behind him, shutting out the world, he leaned his head against the window and let his eyes slip shut.
"Let’s see how long you last, Jace," he murmured under his breath, voice soft, tired, and just a touch cynical. "Everyone else leaves eventually."
