Page 68 of Locke

“That’s not how the math works.”I laugh.

“I don’t care about the math.”

“I know you don’t.Session’s over.”I take the stopwatch back from Crosby and make a note on my clipboard.“Good work today.All of you.”

They filter back toward the door, the competitive energy breaking down into the easy aftermath of people who enjoy each other.Boss is still arguing the times.Arch slings an arm around Crosby’s shoulders and says something that makes Crosby exhale in what might be a laugh.

Rome pauses beside me on his way past.“I enjoyed that,” he says simply.“Even if you did kick my ass at the sled.”

“Thanks, Rome.I hope you come to the next one.”

Then it’s just Locke, taking his time with his bag, and me, folding the last agility ladder.Twenty feet of turf between us and the door standing open.

He starts to walk past me and I’m surprised when he speaks.

“Tonight,” he says, quiet enough that it doesn’t carry.“Your place.”

I open my mouth.We haven’t spoken in three days.I’m not even sure if the other night was a one-off, and now he’s telling me—not asking—that he’s coming over?

The moral dilemma fires hot and I’m already constructing the professional, this-is-getting-complicated version of a response when he leans in close.“Don’t even think about backing out.”His blue eyes bore into mine with challenge.

I close my mouth.No way I’m backing out because I want him to come over.

Besides, I’m good at compartmentalizing.

Chapter 21

Locke

She’scooking.

That’s the first thing that hits me when she opens the door… the heady scent of herbs and roasting meat in the oven.

She’s in a loose sweater the color of oatmeal and dark leggings with her hair down and her feet bare.She looks nothing like the woman who stood on green turf this morning and ran sleds with us.

I truly only know Livia in a professional setting.Composed, focused and precise.

Formidable.

But tonight, it seems as if a facade has been dropped.I’m not sure if it’s the warm smile she has for me when she welcomes me in, or the way she tells me about the new recipe for roast chicken she’s trying, or hell… maybe it’s that she’s barefoot and completely makeup-free that’s doing it for me.

The bottom line… it feels as if she’s dropped the professional layer she carries at work sitting over the top of everything.

I glance around her apartment as I follow her into the kitchen.It suits her.Big windows, table lamps, books on shelves.Deep-seated couches that look like once you sink into them, you’ll have a hard time getting back out.Artwork on the walls but no knickknacks.The living room flows right into the kitchen where Livia is drizzling olive oil into a hot pan.

“You’re cooking,” I say.

She offers me a quick glance over her shoulder.“You were coming over around dinnertime.I would have cooked for myself, so I made enough for two.”

I watch her for a moment.The easy way she moves in this kitchen.Barefoot, unhurried, completely at home.The line of her shoulders and the way her hair falls as she stands at the stove… making dinner on an ordinary Tuesday, and she made enough for me to join her.It does more damage to my equilibrium than anything that happened between us in a hotel room.

I cross the kitchen, reaching past her to turn off the burners and oven.No clue what’s in there, but I don’t want it to burn as I’m sure we’ll be starved later.

She turns around.“I wasn’t—”

I take her face in both hands, bringing her mouth to mine and she exhales against my lips, settling every question I had about whether I should continue to see Livia.Her fingers curl around the front of my jacket.My hands drop to her ass and I pick her up.She locks her legs around my waist, and I walk her down the short hallway and through the door at the end of it without breaking the kiss.

Her bedroom is dark except for the city light edging through the curtains.Her bed is made and that doesn’t surprise me about her.