“I’ve got a scar so. . .” That doesn’t exactly explain much. I try again. “It’s really nasty looking so. . .”
“Does it hurt?” Adeline asks, and I remember just how well-versed she must be. Her older sister Lennie has a pretty wicked scar herself.
“No, not really.” At least not anymore. “But it’s why I don’t like wearing jeans.”
My time in New York City has been characterized by my appreciation of a good tracksuit. It’s practical, movable, and doesn’t press against the tender flesh. It’s been years since I put on a pair of denim jeans, though, part of me knows this is more to do with being comfortable in sweatpants than the scar being aggravated.
“You want to give the shorts a try?”Adeline offers.
Fuck no. But Tristan brought me here, and I’ll be waiting around for him and his friends to finish anyway. The shirt I brought is super loose, so maybe it’ll cover some of my thigh.
“It’s really bad.” I hesitate.
“Can I see?” Adeline asks, without an ounce of shame. It almost makes me laugh.
“Yeah, all right,” I reply, unbothered by the nosiness because at this point, what the fuck else could go wrong.
Her gasp makes me rethink that, though, when I shimmy out of my sweatpants.
“Holy shit, Isolde.” Adeline covers her mouth, bending forward to inspect.
The scar begins mid-thigh, running up and inward. All these years later, it’s still a deep pink, but it’s starting to flatten. Part of me always expects the flesh to be an angry red that’s raised and tender to the touch, though.
“Fuck, Isolde.” Adeline’s head is practically in my crotch, she gets so close. Which is exactly when there’s a knock on the door, and Tristan appears.
CHAPTER 6
Tristan
Igave Isolde some time to change, but fifteen minutes have gone by.
Did I really want to knock on the door of the women’s locker room? Hell no. But like last night, I have a duty of care. Which I realize isn’t a great example, considering what happened.
And once again, I only have myself to blame when I barge into the locker room and find Isolde standing in just her underwear and a woman’s head level with her pussy.
“Uh, sorry.” I need to find Cade and kill him quick, because I can’t keep doing this. I’m not going out of my way to find Isolde naked, but it’s happening way too often.
It’s unprofessional, checking out your client’s round ass.
I begin to turn away, mentally slapping myself when the other girl moves her head.
“You must be Mr. Grumpy.” The girl straightens.
At night Leon’s gets turned into a fight club. It brings in a specific clientele. It’s not Fujimori’s by any means, but it’s a place to drink and watch fighters pummelone another. Because of that unsavory bit of nature, I’m surprised to find the youngest Akatov daughter.
Gym bunnies only hang out when the fighters are around. But Adeline smiles cheekily, tossing hair over her shoulder, more at ease than I would have thought. Especially because this place doesn’t hand out a lot of memberships. Leon personally approves every gym membership, which means not only has Akatov met him, but he must actually like her.
“Mr. Hot Bodyguard, right?” She holds out a hand, stepping closer. “I’m Ads.”
“Tristan.”
“You normally check on all your clients when they’re in the locker rooms?” Her smile is just as bright, but it’s a pointed message.
“I was worried.”
Isolde shoves her legs into a pair of shorts before turning around. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Dimly, I’m aware it must look like I’m staring at Isolde’s crotch. Based on the ringing silence in the locker room, we all know what I’m really looking at.
