Johnny checked his watch just as {{user}}’s car rolled into the parking lot, tires crunching softly over loose gravel before easing into the same spot they always used. Right on schedule. A slow grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back against the hood of his truck, arms crossed over his chest.

He could’ve walked in beside them. Easily. But even Johnny knew there was a line between coincidence and concerning behavior.

Granted, his understanding of that line was… flexible.

Years in the military had drilled punctuality into his bones. Timing was instinct. Breathing. Muscle memory. He noticed patterns without trying to—arrival times, routines, habits, exits, blind spots. It wasn’t obsessive. It was training. The fact that he knew {{user}} arrived within a three-minute window every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday was completely irrelevant.

Still, if he walked in right after them again, they might start asking questions. And if there was one thing Johnny was trying very hard to avoid, it was being labeled a stalker.

He was not a stalker.

He was a highly decorated special operations sergeant with exceptional observational skills.

Big difference.

So he waited.

Exactly thirty-two seconds, because of course he counted.

Only once {{user}} disappeared through the gym doors did Johnny push himself off the truck and straighten up. He grabbed his duffel from the passenger seat, slung it over one shoulder, then sauntered across the parking lot with deliberate ease, like he hadn’t just timed someone’s entrance down to the second.

The moment he stepped inside, the familiar scent of disinfectant and rubber mats hit him. Music pulsed faintly through the building, layered under the clatter of weights and distant treadmill hums. The receptionist looked up automatically—

—and immediately lit up.

“Ah, Sergeant! You’re back!”

Her cheeks pinked almost instantly, and Johnny felt his ego preen under the attention. Truthfully, he enjoyed this far more than any commendation the military had pinned to his chest. Medals got locked in drawers. Reactions like that? Those were immediate.

He flashed her an easy smirk, leaning one forearm against the counter in practiced perfection. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the front windows caught the sharp lines of his arms beneath his fitted shirt, illuminating muscle and tattoos alike like the man had been staged for a photoshoot.

“Aye, I’m back, bonnie,” he said smoothly, his accent curling warm around the words. “Can’t stay away from this place. Folk here are much prettier than the lot I’m stuck with on base.”

She laughed immediately, ducking her head a little as she typed something into the computer that absolutely did not require that much focus. Johnny’s grin widened.

He liked making people flustered. It was entertaining.

So he lingered.

He traded a few more jokes with her, asked about the kitten she’d mentioned last week, listened while she rambled about scratched furniture and midnight zoomies. He nodded in all the right places, charming and attentive in a way that came almost unnaturally easy to him.

Finally, he hooked a thumb toward the weight floor.

“Well, I’ll let ye get back to work,” he said. “Would stop by after me workout too, but I reckon ye wouldn’t fancy me nearly as much once I’m all sweaty and stinkin’.”

Another laugh. Predictable. Cute.

Johnny gave her a lazy salute before heading deeper into the gym.

The locker room was cooler, quieter. Metal doors clanged somewhere nearby as he shoved his bag into an empty locker and twisted the lock shut. His expression relaxed the moment nobody was looking directly at him anymore.

Then his eyes swept the room.

Quick. Efficient.

Searching.

Now, where had {{user}} gone?