Ty growled against his lips, then his jaw, then slipping his hand to the man’s nape, he grazed his teeth along Oren’s neck, just to feel him shiver.
“Don’t talk about you being hurt,” he practically snarled.“It messes with the caveman in me.”
With a calming breath he stepped back, letting his hand and eyes drop—and, yeah, Oren was in the same state he was.Flushed.Breathless.Hard as fuck.Wanting.
Ty raised a brow and his gaze.“You like my caveman, Callaghan?”
Oren smirked, voice low and rough.“Apparently.”
Ty chuckled as he stepped past.“Don’t take too long in the shower.Or do if you need to take matters into your own hands if you know what I mean.Think about me and Dale rolling around on the mat all sweaty.Might help.”
Oren groaned audibly, and Ty grinned as he stepped away and moved out of the barracks and into the sunlight.
The gym wasn’t far.He passed the outdoor track and water stations where a few teams lingered.Bateman and Ricky leaned against the rail fence, watching the trainees cycle through cool downs.
“Ricoh’s still in there,” Bateman said, tilting his head toward the gym door.“He’s pushing the groups hard today.Seems tense.”
Ricky gave Ty a sly grin.“Maybe you can help him blow off some steam with a quickie on the mats.”
Ty stopped walking, jaw tight as the anger rose sharp and swift.“It’s not like that.This isn’t about blowing off steam or a quick fuck.”His voice was low, edged with steel.“I’m building something here.Something long-term.Non-traditional, maybe.But real.If either of you has a problem with that, I honestly don’t give a fuck.”
Both men straightened slightly, surprised by the weight in his voice.
Ty took a calming breath and added.“I’m looking for a future with both of them.”
Ricky’s smirk faded into something thoughtful.Bateman just nodded, eyes narrowing with understanding.
Ty left them behind and stepped into the gym.
Time to get a little closer to what he wanted—and who.
Ty stepped into the gym, heart rate kicking up a notch.Dale Ricoh stood at the far end, toweling off his hands.His eyes met Ty’s, and something unreadable passed between them.
“Ty Monroe,” Dale said flatly.
Ty tilted his head, letting a smirk curl the edge of his mouth.“Coach.”
“You signed up for a private session?”
“Didn’t want to wait for the group warm-up,” Ty said easily.“Figured I’d get my ass handed to me in style and in private.”
Dale tossed the towel aside and stepped onto the mat.“I won’t go easy on you just because we know each other.”
“I don’t want easy,” Ty replied, stepping forward.“I want you.”
That made Dale pause—just a beat.Then he smiled.“Gloves or no gloves?”
Ty’s grin spread slow and deliberate.“No gloves.Let’s make it interesting.”
They circled each other on the mat, both barefoot, stripped down to skin and reflex.Dale came at him first—quick, fluid, testing his reactions.Ty parried, spun, dropped low and swept.Dale jumped the sweep.
Dale’s brows lifted.“You’ve had some training.”
Ty grinned.“Wasn’t just watching YouTube videos during basic you know.”
Dale’s answering grin was slow.“Good.Then we can skip some of the easy shit.”
The next round was faster, Dale pushing angles, using joint locks and off-balancing tactics that were a masterclass in efficiency.Ty faltered once, twice—but found his footing, his breathing, his rhythm.
