“Then you'd better start training like you mean it. Because going into the ring half-prepared is how you end up with permanent damage instead of just bruises.” She stood up. “I'm scheduling you for a full session tomorrow morning. Six AM. You show up ready to work, or I'm pulling you from the card myself.”
“Mara—”
“Not negotiable.” She headed for the door and paused. “And Declan? Whatever the hell is happening between you and Troy, make sure it's worth what you're risking for it.”
She left before I could respond.
I sat there in the quiet office trying to figure out how everything had gotten so complicated so fast.
My phone buzzed. I grabbed it too fast.
Troy
Security just did a sweep. Everything's clear. Dmitri made dinner. It's terrible but edible.
Declan
Be home in twenty.
Troy
Drive safe.
The drive home should have been straightforward. Twenty minutes through the Chicago traffic. The same route I'd taken a thousand times.
But halfway there, I saw the lingerie shop.
It was small and tucked between a coffee place and a bookstore, the type of shop I'd walked past dozens of times without noticing.
Today I noticed.
I pulled over and sat there in my truck staring at the window display. The delicate fabrics in colors that caught the fading afternoon light. Lace and silk and things I had no business thinking about.
Except I was thinking about them. Thinking about Troy in the black lace I'd found in his laundry. Thinking about the way it had looked against his skin. Thinking about buying him more. Something new that was just for us.
The impulse felt insane and reckless. But I was already getting out of the truck, already walking through the door before my brain could talk me out of it.
The shop smelled like perfume and fabric softener. The woman behind the counter looked up and smiled. “Can I help you find anything?”
“I'm looking for underwear in black.” The words felt foreign coming out of my mouth. “Lace, maybe. Or something similar.”
She didn't blink. Just gestured toward the back. “We have a small men's section. Let me show you.”
I followed her through the racks of women's lingerie to a corner that held exactly what I was looking for. Boxer briefs and briefs in lace and mesh and materials I couldn't name. They were mostly black, with some in dark blue and a few in deep red that caught my eye.
“What size?” she asked.
I told her. She pulled a few options and held them up for inspection like this was perfectly normal, like men bought lingerie for other men in her shop all the time.
Maybe they did. What the hell did I know.
I picked three. Black lace. Dark blue mesh. Deep red that was almost burgundy. All of them delicate and expensive and completely inappropriate, which made them perfect.
I paid. She wrapped them in tissue paper and put them in a discreet bag. I walked out feeling like I'd just crossed another line I couldn't uncross.
I got back in my truck. The purchase sat on the passenger seat in its discreet black bag. The tissue paper crinkled when I set my keys down next to it.
This was intention and commitment. Making what had happened between us real in a way that went beyond just sex and desperation. Making it mean something when everything else felt like it was spinning out of control.
