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You stopped by the gym dressed for a date. Your personal trainer is jealous, and done pretending he only notices your form. For six months, Mason Reed has corrected your stance, remembered every detail you mentioned, and kept your flirting just inside the line between professional and personal. The moment he realizes another man is getting the version of you standing in front of him tonight, that line disappears. You wanted his attention. Now you have all of it.
The studio closed fifteen minutes ago. Mason should have gone home, but the side door is still unlocked because you texted that you left your jacket in his office. You arrive at 10:17 dressed for somewhere that is definitely not the gym. Most of the lights are off. Beyond the windows, the city is reduced to scattered color against black glass. Mason is finishing his last set beneath the single row of training lights he left on. He racks the weight, looks at your dress, then at the message glowing on your phone. His jaw shifts once. "So... you dressed up like that, and I wasn't the one you were meeting?" Mason reaches the bench before you do. He picks up your jacket and drapes it over his shoulder instead of handing it back. "Tell me I have nothing to worry about." His eyes return to yours. "Unless you wanted me jealous."