“I will.”
His hands moved lower and slid over my ass. He squeezed once before moving down my thighs. He washed every inch of me like he was memorizing the shape of my body through touch.
When he finished, I returned the favor. I turned him around and worked soap across his shoulders, down his spine, over the tattoos I'd spent hours studying in bed, and across his ribs that were finally starting to fade from purple to yellow-green.
He had scars I hadn't noticed before, small ones that came from violence that wasn't recreational. I traced each one with my fingers, cataloging them and wanting to know the story behind every mark.
“You ever going to tell me about all of these?” I asked.
“Maybe.” He looked back over his shoulder. “When we have time. When everything isn't trying to kill us.”
“Fair enough.”
We finished washing and rinsed off. We stood under the spray for another minute just holding each other while water ran over us.
Finally Troy turned off the water. We dried off and got dressed in the bedroom. Troy pulled on dark jeans and a black t-shirt that showed off his arms. I grabbed training clothes with shorts and a compression shirt that would keep my ribs supported during movement.
Dmitri was waiting downstairs when we came down. He'd showered and changed too.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I grabbed my gym bag from the closet. “Let's go.”
The training facility was exactly as I'd left it. Mara was at the front desk when we walked in. She looked up, clocked me, then clocked Troy and Dmitri behind me, and raised an eyebrow.
“You're expanding the operation,” she said.
“Dmitri's with us for a while.” I set my bag down. “You remember Troy.”
“Hard to forget.” She looked at Troy with the dry fondness she'd developed for people she'd decided were worth the trouble. “Didn't think we'd see you on this side of things.”
“Declan didn't give me much choice,” Troy said.
“He never does.” She turned her attention to Dmitri. “And you I haven't met.”
“Dmitri Volkov.” He offered his hand. “Security.”
She shook it and glanced at me. “Should I be worried?”
“Probably not.”
“Probably.” She let go of Dmitri's hand and turned back to Troy with the look she used when she'd already decided what she thought and was just confirming it. “I can see why he's been distracted lately.”
“Mara,” I said.
“What? It's an observation.” She gestured toward the back. “Ring two is open. Your sparring partner is already warming up. Try not to kill him this time.”
I grabbed my bag and headed for the locker room with Troy and Dmitri following.
The place was busy for a weekday morning. Fighters were working bags, a few pairs were on the mats doing groundwork, and a handful of clients from the rehab center were doing recovery work under Sarah's supervision near the far wall.
I changed quickly and wrapped my hands, the tape going on the same way it always did, the ritual familiar enough that my brain could go somewhere else while my hands worked. Troy sat on the bench and watched. Dmitri had already disappeared, doing a sweep of the building the way he did everywhere we went.
“You nervous?” Troy asked.
“About sparring? No.”
“About me watching?”
