Page 21 of Training the Alpha

Alex stays over for the first time. We wake up together, and I discover, completely unsurprisingly, that he looks just as devastating first thing in the morning as he does on stage.

He has to leave early for a class, but I make him breakfast anyway, and we eat together on my small balcony. We sip coffee in the chill early morning air and quietly laugh at my eccentric neighbor doing what we can only guess is a hybrid of tai chi and interpretive dance in his bedroom.

When he leaves, I go back to bed and smell him on my sheets and feel lighter than I have in years.

The high lasts for all of three days.

“Keep that left hand up, Dylan,” I call out, circling the heavy bag Dylan is currently unleashing a barrage of vicious combinations upon. “You're leaving yourself wide open for a hook.”

Dylan grunts and adjusts his stance without breaking his rhythm. He's a massive, serious heavyweight pro, possessing a terrifying amount of power, but he's always been quieter than the other guys—more observant, more serious. It’s part of what makes him such a formidable competitor.

Lately, though, that intensity has been dialed up to eleven.

Dylan stops, clutching the bag as he catches his breath, his forehead resting against the leather. He reaches down to grab his water bottle, but his eyes instantly drift to his phone sitting on a nearby stool. A clip is playing on the screen—a highlight reel of Levi Bastien, the shit-talking French boxer who’s been loudly taking shots at Dylan in the media for the last three months.

I cross my arms over my chest, turning his phone screen face down on the stool. “The fight isn't for another half a year, buddy. Don't let him get inside your head before you even sign the contract.”

Dylan wipes a hand down his face, his jaw tight, his dark eyes lingering on his phone even though Bastien is hidden from view.

“He's not in my head, coach,” Dylan says quietly, his voice low and serious. “He just thinks he’s untouchable. I'm going to prove he isn't.”

“Good. Then leave the videos alone for today and wrap it up,” I tell him, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Go home. Rest is just as important as training, and you haven’t been getting enough of it.”

Dylan nods, giving me a rare smile as he slings his sweat towel around his neck. “I just want to beat the bastard.”

“If anyone can do it, Dyl, it’s you.”

I check my phone as he heads for the locker room, chuckling at a text from Alex. It only says,on my way, but he’s followed it with a string of obscene emojis that relate directly to what we spent half of last night doing. He’s coming in for a training session, and even though I saw him this morning, I’ve still been restless all afternoon waiting for his slot.

“Marcus.” Max appears at my shoulder. “You got a minute? In the office?”

Something about the look he’s giving me makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. “Sure.”

As we make our way to the office, I notice more eyes on me than normal. I don’t know if I’m imagining things, but I could swear there’s a ripple of whispers among some of the regulars as we skirt the edge of the gym. It sets my teeth on edge.

I notice Chet deep in conversation with his usual sparring partners at the far side of the gym, and he looks up just in time to give me an ugly smirk when he briefly meets my eyes. My stomach twists.

“What’s up?” I say when we step inside the office.

Max perches on a desk, and I do the same. He looks… pained. “Chet is what’s up,” he says, and my stomach drops. This can’t be good. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this, and for what it’s worth I’m not accusing you of anything. But Chet’s been going around telling anyone who’ll listen that you’re—” he rubs the back of his neck, “—that you and your dancer boy are sleeping together.”

My blood turns to ice. “Alex,” I say, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.

“Right, yeah, sorry,” Max says. “Well, Chet was at the club after Dyl’s win, and he’s saying he heard you guys in the bathroom. Doing—I don’t know—whatever. I know for a fact he was hammered and being a dickhead that night, as usual, so he’s got zero credibility, but I had to tell you before you found out that people are talking some other way.” He pauses, giving me a look that’s half exasperated and half apologetic. “For what it’s worth, Marcus, I think he’s a gigantic piece of shit for spreading it around. Whether it’s bullshit or not.”

My ears feel like they’re filled with cotton, but Max is looking at me for some kind of an answer.

“It’s not bullshit,” I hear myself say. Max raises his eyebrows. “I mean, him telling everyone about it like a fucking high schooler is absolutely bullshit. But Alex and I—that’s not.”

Max nods slowly, taking it in, and suddenly I feel hot all over, my body bracing itself for his reaction. “Okay.” He nods some more. “Okay. Soyou’re—sleeping together.”

“Yeah,” I grunt. Is face is giving nothing away.

“But you also went to his show the other day, so you’re notjustsleeping together,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“It kind of is,” I say, shaking my head and crossing my arms over my chest. “It could have an impact on ouractualbusiness. So yeah, it’s more than justsleeping together. Maybe a lot more.”

“Holy shit,” he says, and the beginning of a smile is creeping onto his face. “I didn’t know you, uh—with other dudes, let alone with alphas—”