“Why?”
“Because the terrifying mafia enforcer image works verywell for me.”
“Sure it does.”
I bend to grab another weight, and he nudges it away with his foot before I can lift it.
“Hey.”
“You’re done with the weights now,” he says.
“Says who?”
“Says the man who just watched your arms shaking.”
“They were not shaking.”
He leans down, bringing his face closer to mine.
“Princess,” he murmurs, “there are other ways to work out.”
I shove his chest. “You’re such a horny bastard.”
“And yet you love working out with me.” He raises a brow.
“At home, I’d work out at this time most mornings,” I tell him. “Why should I change my training hours?”
His mouth curves again, slower this time. “You rode the elevator down with me.”
“That’s because the other one was occupied.”
“You brushed your teeth next to me,” he continues.
I roll my eyes. “You were hogging the sink.”
Bronx folds his arms. “And you watched me hit the bag for at least five consecutive minutes.”
“You were grunting like a pig,” I say, laughing. “I had to check you were okay.”
“Did I just hear that right?”
My brows knit together. “What?”
“You were concerned about my well-being?”
“You’ve twisted my words.”
“No, princess,” he chuckles. “I just called you out. My little hellcat has a heart.”
When I laugh, his smirk fades as his gaze drops to my mouth, softer now. “You laugh more these days.”
I frown. “And?”
“You used to hate me.”
For a second, neither of us moves. I cross my arms, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into my chest.
“I used to hate the smell of manure in my da’s stash house,” I say. “But I got used to it. Same thing.”
