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Hunter moved, mumbling something in his sleep before going still again, and I wondered how long since he’d slept in. He told me that he liked to train early in the morning so that his clients had a better chance at privacy when they used the agility course, and I liked that he took that into consideration. I liked a lot of things about him, actually, not just the sex—although the sex was fantastic.

I stretched, then settled against the curve of his shoulder again, ready to soak up the heat of his body against mine, but my plans were disturbed by a low buzzing. I glanced over at my phone, but it was dark and silent. The noise continued, and I tracked it to the pile of Hunter’s clothing on the floor just as it stopped. I debated waking him up but decided against it. Maybe it was selfish of me, but I was warm and comfortable, and I figured if it was important, whoever it was would call back.

The buzzing started again, and this time Hunter’s eyes snapped open. He lurched upright, untangling himself from both me and the sheets, and grasped for his jeans. He pulled the phone from his back pocket, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he answered it. “Hello?”

There was a pause, then, “I’m happy to discuss that, but I’m currently working with another client. It would be at least a week.”

I could have used my enhanced senses to eavesdrop, but my mom had taught me better than that. So I slipped out of bed and went and used the bathroom, and when I got back, Hunter had ended the call. I wasn’t going to ask, but he caught my curious glance. “Looks like I’ve got my next client lined up.”

And man, if my human form had hackles, they would have been up—which was stupid, because personal training was what Hunter did for a living, and it was a dumb thing to get jealous over.

Besides, it wasn’t like there was anything to be jealous of. It wasn’t like we were dating. This was therapy. Sexy, amazing, dick-tingling therapy, sure. But Hunter was still just doing his job. So why did my stomach feel like I’d swallowed a lead ball at the thought of Hunter moving on to another client?

I needed to get a grip.

“That’s great for you,” I said with an enthusiasm I didn’t feel. “When do you start?”

Hunter’s brow creased. “I only take one client at a time. It wouldn’t be until I’m finished working with you.”

“Right,” I said and tried to figure out why that made me feel like a divorced wife watching her ex-husband move the new girlfriend in.

I really needed to get that grip.

I slapped a fake smile on my face. “Well, with the way things are going, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

Something complicated flickered across Hunter’s face before his expression smoothed out. “You’re doing really well. I thought we’d do hydrotherapy again today and then run the agility course tonight and build on the progress we’ve made.”

It almost sounded like he was trying to get rid of me as a client.

That lead ball in my stomach lurched at the thought, even though it made no sense for me to feel that way. Of course he was trying to get rid of me. That was literally his job—to get me moving and back to my normal life, while he went on to help the next poor sucker who didn’t know their ass from their elbow.

“Yeah,” I said. “We can do that.”

I dressed in silence while Hunter showered, trying to make sense of my feelings—not that they were all that complicated. I liked him, pure and simple, and now my werewolf side had fixated on the idea that he was somehow mine. But he wasn’t.

It was as I was brewing a pot of coffee that I had a revelation that really shouldn’t have been as startling as it was.

Hunter wasn’t mine—but what if he could be?

I mean, sure, normally I was into hookups, but when I thought about going back to my routine of picking up random shifters from Claude’s, it made my gut clench, and not in a good way. That alone told me all I needed to know.

Like, it wasn’t as though the not-dating-clients rule would be in force for much longer—not if I worked my ass off. And was there any reason I couldn’t just ask him on a date after I had my limbs under control?

I poured two cups and handed Hunter his when he emerged from the bedroom. He gave me a pleased smile, and I put some bread in the toaster while we drank our coffee. “Do you really think I can get the hang of my legs this week?”

Hunter hummed thoughtfully. “I think so. As unconventional as it is, I genuinely think the crunchy leaf therapy”—his cheeks turned pink as he said it—“is helping. Your coordination is improving, and you really set up a great rhythm last night.”

“Yeah, I did,” I said, recalling the way I’d ridden him like I was in the Kentucky Derby and he was the odds-on favorite. “Are you sure we can’t do some more of that today instead of the water tank?”

Hunter snorted. “Tempting, but no. Hydro, then agility course. Trust me, those things will work just as well.”

I hated that he was right, but I consoled myself with the thought that the sooner I could walk up the stairs, the sooner I could ask him out.

There were sixteen steps in the staircase in my building, and I was currently engaged in a staring contest with unlucky number thirteen.

“Come on, Luke, you’ve got this!” Hunter called from the foot of the stairs where he’d cruelly abandoned me.

Okay, maybe that was a touch dramatic. But he had said that with the progress I’d made today, I could probably climb them myself, which was basically the same thing, right? I stared at the step, which seemed like it was twice the height of the previous twelve. My thigh muscles ached from the workout they’d already had.