Page 22 of Out for Blood
She snatches her towel, wipes her face, and throws one at me without looking. “I still think you folded.”
“I adapted.”
“You lost.”
I smirk. “Temporarily.”
She turns back to me, lifting her chin slightly. “So, my reward?”
I stand, nearing her, “You’re really not going to let that go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
Invading her space, I reply, “You should be careful what you ask for.”
Her eyes darken, daring me, “You should be careful what you promise.”
Then she goes and gathers her things.
“I’ll think of something creative,” she quips over her shoulder, already walking to the locker room.
A chuckle rumbles through my chest despite myself.
“Don’t worry,” I yell after her. “If you don’t, I’ve got ideas.”
She glances back once, a smirk still plastered on her face, then disappears inside.
I stand there, longer than I should.
Then turn toward the men’s locker room.
I shrug it off; she earned that win.
But tonight, the way I plan on pinning her has nothing to do with training.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When we get home, Tyler and I order tacos from our favorite spot, eating on the couch with the TV casting a soft glow across the room. A random stand-up comedy plays, something easy where we can escape mentally for a little while, laughing and letting ourselves fall into it.
The normalcy of it feels borrowed.
Tyler gently nudges my knee with his, making a remark under his breath about the last joke the comedian said, making me laugh harder, causing my head to tip back as the abnormal sound sneaks out of me.
Out of nowhere, hisotherphone beeps, a very high-pitched sound.
It cuts through the room like a scalpel.
I swallow my next laugh as the air around us shifts, tightening, thickening as if something unseen has just stepped into the space with us.
My eyes snap toward the drawer.
The phone that never goes off unless something happened, something bad.
Tyler automatically freezes next to me, the almost unnoticeable change in him obviousto me.
I stay where I am, observing.
With exaggerated care, he sets his quesadilla down on the plate and reaches for a napkin to wipe his hands. Then he wipes them again, as if he’s buying time before whatever is waiting on that screen becomes real.
