I glance over at DeLuca, but he isn’t laughing. He’s staring right at her—frowning.

I clear my throat to get his attention. His eyes snap to mine. He glimpses once more at Madison before standing up. “I’ll leave you guys to it.” He throws a wad of cash on the table and says, “I’ll call you, Parker. Madison, it’s been an absolute pleasure.” Then he walks away, leaving his plate completely untouched.

11

KY

I KNOW IT’S Madison knocking without having to open the door. She has this specific knock. Three taps. All quiet. All timid. Kind of like her.

I open the door with a smile; one that she returns. “You’re crazy about me, aren’t you?”

With a shrug, she pushes past me and makes herself comfortable on the couch. “How was the gym?” she asks.

“I got slaughtered,” I tell her truthfully. After taking my anger out on Gunner a few days ago, he’d decided to pay me back. Only he, or maybe even DeLuca, felt it necessary to call in a favor. I’d recognized the guy from one of the many pictures hanging in the gym walls. He’d told me his next fight was set a month from now as a contender for the UFC middleweight title. He was a weight class below me, but that didn’t matter. He’d sure as fuck made it known that he was better than me¸ and I’d had no choice but to accept it.

Gunner—he’d loved every damn second of it. So did DeLuca as he’d half watched from the sidelines—too busy switching from his laptop to his phone to pay full attention.

I’d called Jax when I was done and told him about it.

“We need to get access to his computer,” he’d said. “Whatever he’s doing—that’s our ticket.”

I’d told him that it was on him at all times, and when it wasn’t, it was locked up and with Tiny.

That’d got him excited. “Leave it with me,” he’d said, before hanging up.

“You look fine,” Madison says, bringing me back to the present. Her brow bunches as she looks me up and down.

“Yeah?” I make my way over to her. “You should see my ribs.”

She sits up a little straighter. “Show me.”

I lift my shirt, revealing what’s no doubt the beginning of some heavy-set bruises.

“You need to ice it...” she murmurs. She reaches up, the back of her fingers slowly skimming the sensitive areas. And then they move past my ribs and slowly down my stomach. She chews her lip as her single finger traces the dips of my abs. Her mouth parts slightly, her eyes fixed. Her breaths are short now, coming out in tiny spurts. My eyes focus on her breasts as they heave up and down, up and down...It’s only a few seconds, but the warmth of her hand on my bare skin amplifies each and every one. Then she blinks and, as if realizing what she’s been doing, yanks her hand away. “Ice,” she whispers, getting up and moving to the fridge. When she returns a moment later, I’m already sitting on the couch, my shirt off. She hands me an ice pack and moves far, far away from me. So far, she’s at the front door again. “I’ll come back later.”

“No, stay,” I rush out. “Give me ten minutes to ice, five to shower, and we can head out.”

“Why do you do it? Train to fight, I mean.”

The first time she asked what I did with my days; I hesitated to tell her truth. But I figured if I just tell her what I did—and kept the reason to myself, it would be enough. And it was. Until now.

I let out a pained groan and ignore her question. “What did you have planned for today?”

“So you’re not going to tell me why?”

I sigh and motion for her to sit back down next to me, giving me time to come up with a response.

“So?” she asks.

“I have some issues I’m dealing with,” I tell her, which isn’t actually that far from the truth. “Punching things in a controlled environment—it helps clear my head.”

She stares me down, probably deciding whether or not to run. “Okay,” she says. Then shrugs. “Anything you want to do today?”

I release a breath, relieved that it’s enough. “You know I’m happy as long as I’m with you.” So I’m turning up my charm, but it’s not a lie. This has been our routine for the last three days since that shit happened with DeLuca.

I’d hit the gym for a few hours in the mornings, and then I’d come home and a few minutes later, she’d knock on my door. We’d spend the next few hours doing whatever she wanted, until I had to leave for therapy or another gym session. Then we’d repeat the process. Only we’d have dinner together, somewhere new every night.

Yesterday, when I got back from my morning training session, she was waiting for me in the foyer. And I loved that she was. I asked her what she’d been doing, and she told me that she’d just been waiting for me. That thought alone had me wanting to hit the emergency stop button on the elevator and pinning her to the wall, flooding her with kisses.

I didn’t.

Later on, she admitted that she had a hard time leaving the apartment alone. She said she had anxiety in crowds and felt safe with me, but then quickly changed the subject.

Like always.

We don’t do much as far as activity—she just loves being outside, regardless of what we’re doing. And she likes to breathe—and as weird as that sounds—I have no other way of explaining it. When we’re out, I’d often catch her stopping just to take a breath. Sometimes it was to smell the air, but other times, it seemed like she was just appreciating the ability to breathe.