I've seen shirtless men countless times in my life, but I can't help but stare. My mind instantly goes into analytical trainer mode, mentally assessing their physiques and prescribing compound exercises.
One guy clearly needs more lat exercises, his back is underdeveloped. Another seems to be skipping leg day, judging by those skinny legs. And that one, he must love exercising his glutes, because those buns are seriously perky. I could be a full-time trainer if I want to. I have the neck for it.
Vega steps directly in front of me, blocking my view. "Are you done?" he asks, his voice tight.
"Huh?" I reply, slightly dazed from my body analysis.
He grabs my arm and pulls me away. I don't fight it. I am, after all, the pretend wife, and I have to act the part. I allow him to drag me across the floor, but then I spot something that makes my eyes light up: two guys fighting hand-to-hand combat in a padded area.
