Ty’s grin spread.“No gloves.Let’s make it interesting.”
He waited as Ty removed his combat boots and stepped onto the mat with bare feet.The gym was quiet now, just the two of them, the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds, casting long shadows on the mat.
Dale braced himself.
This was going to get complicated.
****
The hallway outsideTy Monroe’s room in the trainers’ barracks was quiet, the hum of the Ridge’s AC system the only sound threading through the space.His feet, clad in combat boots, made very little noise against the polished concrete floor as he moved toward the main corridor, hair still damp from the shower.
He felt calm.Focused.At least on the surface.
He’d warmed up and stretched a little after his shower, wanting to make sure he was prepared for what was to come.
Combat training.
One on One.
With Dale Ricoh.
He needed this.Not just the training—but the contact.The release.The chance to sharpen himself.
He’d been out of the fight for too long.
Truth was, he wanted to learn.Needed to.After the attack at the Ridge, after Oren had been hurt—he couldn’t let himself be that helpless again.Watching a man he cared for deeply risk his life and get injured, held back by his own limitations, had awoken something primal within him.
Dale Ricoh was a bruiser, a tactician, the best hand-to-hand fighter Ty had ever seen.And Ty wasn’t above admitting that training with him offered another ...benefit.
Touch.Proximity.
Maybe even something he hadn’t let himself name yet.
He turned the corner and nearly ran into Oren.
Oren’s hair was tousled by the wind from the construction site, jeans streaked with dust, and his Redline Design Group work shirt rolled at the sleeves.He came to an abrupt stop when he saw Ty, eyes sweeping over him from damp hair to bare calves with open appreciation.
“You look ...ready for something,” Oren said.
Ty smirked.“I’m heading to the gym.Figured I’d pick a fight with Dale.”
Oren’s brows shot up, concern tightening his face.“You what?”
Ty chuckled, stepping closer.“Relax.It’s a private session.I asked him to train me.”
Oren’s jaw flexed.He looked off to the side, then back.“I could have trained you.”
Ty met his eyes, softer now.“I know.But Dale’s next level.He’s faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
Oren’s eyes lit up with a flicker of excitement.“Fuck, yeah, he is!The night of the fight, when he came for the guy who stabbed me?The way he moved—like one second he was nowhere to be seen, and the next—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Rage flared in Ty’s chest hot and fast.Without thinking, he stepped forward and gripped Oren’s throat—not hard, just enough to saystop speaking now, I’m in fucking charge.
Then he kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle.It wasn’t sweet.It was heat and history and hunger.Their mouths collided, Ty’s fingers flexing at Oren’s neck, while Oren’s hands locked onto Ty’s waist and the back of his shirt like he needed the grounding or he’d fly apart.
