Scotty stalked into my line of sight, and when I twisted to face him, I noticed Reed had vanished into the adjacent workout room. “I’m wondering if dinner could become problematic,” Scotty noted, his shaggy hair pulled back into a small bun at the nape of his neck. I frowned. “Why?” “That looked more like foreplay than fighting.” My cheeks burned, double-flushed with post-workout exertion and embarrassment. Apparently, we hadn’t been subtle. “We were training.” “Training for what exactly?” “The same thing as you.” His face scrunched up with distaste. “Unlikely.”
