Page 11 of The Long Way Found

"I can't pass up that offer. But take it easy on an old man, okay?"

Luke's smile vanished in a comical way. "Absolutely not."

The Ridge was busier than Jack expected for an early afternoon. He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it in—clean equipment, good lighting, and mountain views through the windows. Professional yet welcoming, with the familiar scents of rubber mats and air freshener, and a Spotify playlist of 2000s hits playing softly in the background.

Jack noticed how easily Luke moved through the space—greeting members, checking in with staff, and crossing the gym floor. He had the ease and assurance of a man in his element, comfortable in his role as a leader. A man like that could easily be a cocky prick in a gym. Jack had seen enough of them to know.

But Luke wasn't trying to draw attention to himself. He just did—well, at least Jack's attention. And his body—God, his body.

Jack had been surrounded by robust men at their peak for most of his career. He'd hooked up with hot guys before. But this was different.

"We'll start with squats," Luke said, loading the bar.

The second, Luke positioned himself under the bar and sank toward the floor. Jack's brain stopped working, and another part of his anatomy hummed into action.

Christ, that ass, Jack thought. It was high, round, perfectly formed. Jack had never forgotten that particular attribute. How many times had he rubbed one out thinking about it back at West Point? Now it was a fuller, grown man's powerhouse, and it was all Jack could do not to stare every time Luke performed a rep.

Luke straightened, racked the bar, and backed away. "Your turn."

Jack stepped up. Luke moved behind him to spot, close enough that Jack could feel his body heat and catch the scent of his shampoo, which clearly had not come from the grocery store.

"Form looks good," Luke said quietly. "Control on the descent. Drive up through your heels."

Jack descended slowly, rose, and repeated.

Luke's hands hovered near Jack's hips, not touching but present. Ready.

"Nice," Luke said.

They moved through the session—shoulder press, bench press, bicep curls, and lat pulls.

"My greatest hits," Luke said with a smile. "Guaranteed to work the big muscles you shouldn’t ignore when you're pressed for time."

He paused, then added, "Not that you're ignoring anything, obviously. You're in great shape."

Jack's chest and arms were pumped as blood coursed through his lean, sinewy form. If he was peacocking, Luke was too.

They moved to pull-ups.

Luke went first, gripping the bar and pulling himself up with controlled, effortless movements. His tank rode up slightly with each rep, revealing a strip of taut flesh.

Twelve reps, and Luke wasn't even breathing hard. Now it was Jack's turn.

When Jack dropped down, Luke was right there.

"That was eleven. I counted."

"Not sure I can manage another," Jack admitted.

"We'll get you there." Luke's hand settled on Jack's shoulder, steadying him. The touch was brief but heavy and hot. "You've got good form. And now… the big finish—push-ups! Winner gets to 20 first," Luke said, dropping into a plank.

"What do I get if I win?" Jack asked.

"What do you want?"

Jack froze, body and brain. He wanted to fuck Luke, as if that wasn't obvious to everyone around them. But he also wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to wake up to him asleep in his arms. He wanted everything in that moment, but he could not find an appropriate response.

His time ran out, and the push-up race was on. Luke finished first, but not by an embarrassing margin.