She stretches, her shirt riding up to show a sliver of the skin that I know is softer than you’d ever expect from such a lethal woman.
“That’s okay. I’ll—”
“I could really use some help. But it won’t be an easy job, Thatcher. I expect you to work just as hard as I do.”
Her smirk raises my spirits more than anything ever could, and I pop off the bar top to follow her around like a puppy again, this time with her blessing.
“Anything you say, Boss.”
Chapter 14
Fuck dealing.Iscowl at the baby birds chirping along the path to the training gym. It’s not their fault that they get to sit in their trees, eating worms and…whatever the fuck birds do for fun. But listening to them living their best lives as I deal with an egotistical, misogynistic thorn in my side who’s determined to tear my destiny from my hands is too much to bear. Someone will have to bear the brunt of my frustration, and since I’ve resolvednotto break my brother’s best friend into a million tiny pieces, the sparring mat is the only thing that’ll suffice.
Luckily for the drywall, I learned my lesson long ago about kicking in doors when frustrated. Instead, I count three sets of breaths, pulling all of my anger deeper and into its box, to be unleashed at the perfect time onto whoever is brave enough to step onto the mat with me. Misha will rise to the challenge,regardless, but the two of us have fought so many times that it’s more of a choreographed dance than a true bout.
Men immediately stand to attention when I enter, a ripple traveling the length of the gym like a line of dominoes I’ve kicked over in my rage. They fall back into their workouts soon enough with a wave of my hand to put them at ease, but my presence comes with a certain level of tension, as it should. I’m their boss. I’mtheboss. The day any man feels truly at ease in my company is the day I’ve lost my touch.
“Hiya, Boss.”
“You look like a bear with a sore head, moya tsaritsa.”
Of course, the two men who couldn’t give less of a fuck about my Pakhan status appear at my side as if magnetized. Misha is as unbothered as ever, giving no clue as to whether he’s been running sessions or taking part. Thatcher, on the other hand, is dripping. The white T-shirt he’s wearing does little more than serve as a sweat receptacle.
He realizes this at the same time as I do, and peels the offensive garment from his shoulders just to toss it onto the floor with a wet thump.
“The laundry hamper isright there, Prescott. Jesus—”
“It looks like he’s got his own washboard for doing the laundry—”
“Don’t disrespect the boss like that, man!”
The mostly friendly jibes directed at Thatcher bode well for his reconnaissance mission, and even Kirill tempered his defense of my honor with a playful shoulder nudge.
“It’s alright. It wasn’t my intention to interrupt any of your training. I just wanted to see if you had even groups on the mats or if you needed an extra body.”
Any tittering that had continued in the wake of Thatcher’s strip show ceases, and you’d think I just revealed that Grandfather Frost isn’t real based on the depth of the silence.
“I’ve just finished with Dima, so I can—”
“Want to take a crack at me?” Thatcher interrupts Misha, and I swear I hear a brief “ooo” before silence falls again at my sharp gaze. If he looked any less earnest, I might admonish him for toeing the line of disrespect in front of the men. As it is, only his playful wink, hidden from the group, belies the flirtiness Iknowhe can’t help.
There’s no reason to waste time thinking about a decision I’ve already made, even if I end up regretting putting myself in this position. It’s just two bodies struggling for dominance, writhing for any upper hand,anymoment of weakness in the other to gain the upper hand. Nothing sexual about it. I’ve sparred with Misha thousands of times, not to mention hundreds of other men, and never felt any lust except for blood.
The mat is still warm from the last set of men as I strip to my sports bra and bike shorts. The long braid that’s my everyday staple won’t serve me well here, so I take it down and quickly rebraid it into a pull-proof style while Misha attempts to get the rest of the men back into their workouts. He’s sending most of them out on a long run to end the session, which is probably for the best.
“You know I would never pull your hair, right?” Thatcher’s soft voice doesn’t surprise me, since I’m always hyperaware of him these days, but his sincerity makes me pause. He’s chosen to remain shirtless for our bout, and I can’t blame him. His lack of shirt will give me one less grip point, and if I’m sliding off his sweat-soaked torso…
“Mila? Hello?”
Fuck.Thatcher and Misha are both in front of me now, and I zoned out for long enough,thinking about sliding up and down the former’s torso like a surfboard, that I drew their attention. “Yep. I’m ready. Let’s see what Misha’s been teaching you.”
I’m gifted a full smile at that, and the rest of the room fades away as I focus on the radius of our mat, and nothing else. He’s never looked more like a golden retriever than at this moment, golden hair pulled back with a headband and eyes locked onto mine as he tilts his head to receive last-minute advice from Misha. This is the only place I let my guard down and don’t waste any energy on monitoring my periphery. In the gym, with Misha close by, all that matters is myself, my opponent, and the mat.
“I like being the center of your attention like this.”
“Just like this?”Shit, don’t flirt with him, Mila. What the hell?
“Touché. Notjustlike this.” His grin is infectious enough toalmostmake me forget to be surly, but I rein it back just in time.
