Page 218 of The Omega Exchange: Omnibus
“You haven’t been down here?” he asks.
“No,” I reply mindlessly, but my eyes are still glued to the sight. There’s a huge pool twenty or thirty feet away. Lounge chairs and tables with umbrellas line the sides of the wall that surrounds it, but they seem to be put away like how they’re stored for out of season weather.
“Do you mind if I change into my workout clothes before you get started?” Carver asks, scanning his badge and opening a door that seems rather unassuming.
I shrug. “Nope.”
It helps me feel better, like I’m not just burdening him.
We step into a small locker room and I’m kind of surprised, but it makes sense. The hotel staff would want somewhere to change and shower.
“Is there somewhere I should go?” I ask, eyeing the area.
“You can wait on the other side of that wall of lockers,” he says, chuckling.
Carver isn’t a bad workout buddy. The treadmill I’m on faces the wall of windows, and I swear the cold seems to seep inside. I’m pacing myself up when he steps to the side of the machine to offer me a zip-up hoodie.
It’s lightweight, and even though I’m exercising, I’m still chilly. I take it. It’s an entire process trying to get it on while not face planting, but I am eventually successful.
I jog, running through plot points in my head. The characters I’m writing for are two fan favorites. It makes it especially toughsince a significant portion of readers wanted the hero to end up with the heroine in my last book. I have to be careful to make sure she doesn’t feel like a consolation prize.
My thighs ache as my chest heaves, but I don’t stop. I’ve heard there are some people who get a sense of euphoria when they work out hard enough. That’s not me, but I wish it were. I push myself until the ache turns into numbness. It’s the best I can get. I’m sweaty and miserable, but I keep going.
My phone vibrates again in the cup holder of the machine. I’m eventually going to need to block Ben, but it feels so final. I’ve never taken that step, not even once over the years.
I shake my head, pulling my eyes from the screen to keep myself from doing something ridiculous like answering.
Carver’s low chuckle fills the air. I cut my gaze to the side and ignore the way my stomach flip-flops when he grins. He’s a delicious man. The problem is his energy says he knows it. His arms are covered in black tattoos, but they’re all big bubbly shapes. I’m sure there’s a term for the style, but I don’t know it. They’ve got bright pops of dark teal, purple, lime, and even a dark pink. He yanks the bottom of his sweaty T-shirt up, swiping his face, and my jaw falls.
I stumble like a total loser and have to grab the machine. He’s cut with well-defined lines of muscle and so many abs. I think that might be an eight pack.
That’s not natural.
I suddenly feel quite frumpy in comparison.
The call ends, but it only takes five seconds before the screen lights and Ben’s picture pops up again.
“Late night booty call?” he asks, nodding to my vibrating phone. He hits the buttons on the machine and continues pacing himself down.
My ponytail swishes from side to side as I do the same with my machine. “An ex who hasn’t quite gotten the picture that I’mserious this time.” I grimace, glancing away from his big brown eyes. They’re a little too assessing and I feel a whole lot lacking.
I know I’m pretty enough. I’ve heard it my entire life, but my self-confidence is shot. I’ve spent a lot of time questioning my worth because of Ben and his games.
“I’ve never calledanyoneseventeen times in a damn row. What the hell is that guy’s problem?” Carver asks, tossing me a towel.
“He’s likely drunk and didn’t find anyone new to take home at the bar tonight,” I blurt out and bite my lip to keep from saying anything more.
“Right,” he says, brushing a sweaty curl away from my eyes.
My hair is naturally wavy, but it always turns into a mess of curls when I work out and it never manages to all stay in a tie. He towers over me as I continue wiping off to distract myself from how close he is. He’s big for a beta, but I guess it makes sense—having a security team filled with alphas could be problematic, especially if an omega goes into heat.
“So you’re sayin’ that this isn’t outside of his normal behavior?” Carver’s country twang sounds even more pronounced as he finishes his question.
Betas can’t bark like alphas can, so I know his question wasn’t a bark, but the dominance in it still rolls through my system.
My head shakes involuntarily. “I’ll text him tomorrow and ask him again to stop. If I answer now, it’ll be nothing but an argument.”
“Ask? Christ,” he mutters. He spins around, snatching my phone from the holder before I can stop him.
