One thing I was certain of: if I sat here stewing, I’d be miserable all night—hell, I’d be miserable however long we’d be stuck here. Just because I’d gotten used to burning off my aggression in other ways didn’t mean I didn’t have the best piece of equipment with me. I got up and walked across the room, grabbing the bag of stuff I’d had Gage pack for me yesterday and pulling out an A-shirt and basketball shorts.

Evie had dismissed me the second I’d told her to forget I said a word, burying her nose in that goddamn phone again, so I didn’t give it a second thought when I reached back and pulled my shirt over my head, quickly slipping into the white A-shirt. I unbuttoned and dropped my jeans, pulling on the basketball shorts over my black boxer briefs, then shoved everything else in the bag.

When I spun around to head toward the kitchen to get some water, Evie’s eyes weren’t focused on her phone like I’d expected. Nope, they were focused right on me, those gray eyes hidden partially behind eyelids at half-mast, her lips parted, a blush dotting her cheeks.

I stopped in my tracks, narrowing my eyes at her. Though it’d been years since I’d seen it, I recognized that look on her face, had seen it a hundred times before. Evie was turned on. It could’ve been my frustration coming out, or it could’ve been pure curiosity, but I couldn’t help goading her. “Something you need?”

My voice startled her, and her eyes lifted to connect with mine, telling me she’d been staring right at my chest. She shook her head. “No. Um, no. Just wondering what you were doing.”

“Well, you’ve pissed me the fuck off, so I’m gonna run some drills.”

She glowered at me, the lusty—and, yeah, it’d been lust on her face; I’d bet my balls on it—look wiped clean in the blink of an eye. Instead of commenting on the first part of what I’d said, she asked, “By yourself?”

“Not a whole lot of options…” I filled a glass with water, then set it on the counter before going over to the couch and pushing it forward, sliding it to sit right in front of the TV. The space in here wasn’t overly large, but it was big enough to go through some routines. Ones I hadn’t been through in a while—months, if not a year or more. Gage and I always used to do this, back when we couldn’t afford any other method of keeping in shape—no gym memberships for us. And in our business, you had to keep in shape. If you didn’t, you were flat on your back—or worse—before you could blink.

I stretched briefly, warming up with some jumping jacks, push-ups, and sit-ups to get my heart rate up. When I was ready to really get into it, see if I could remember the series of movements Gage had taught me years ago, Evie was standing in front of me. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, a light gray tank top and the tiniest pair of shorts I’d ever seen the only things covering her body.

“I’m an option,” she said, her hands resting on her hips. “I always did think it was more fun doing it with someone else.”

I raised an eyebrow at her words and let my eyes take in every inch of her, traveling up from her bare feet, her toenails painted a boring pale pink that so wasn’t Evie, to the creamy smooth expanse of her toned calves and thighs, pausing momentarily at the tiny scrap of material that counted as shorts—or panties, more likely. I knew if she turned around, the cheeks of her ass would be visible out the bottom of that little band of fabric, and I ached to reach around and feel it for myself.

My cock roused in my shorts, twitching to life, and it didn’t settle down as I continued my appraisal, ghosting over the flat plane of her stomach and the sliver of bare skin where her tank top didn’t quite meet the band of her shorts, then darting my gaze up to the creamy expanse of her shoulders, speckled with freckles and nearly bare except for the straps of her tank top. The thin straps that made it clear she, once again, wasn’t wearing a bra. Not that she needed to—her breasts were small, tiny really, but perfect. The thought of them, of what they’d looked like, especially as I allowed my gaze to finally drop and take in the hard points pressing against the fabric, made my mouth water. Made my hands twitch at my sides to reach out, pull the strap from her shoulder, yank down the front of the tank top, and put my mouth to those perfect little tits, suck her nipples into my mouth, and see if I still knew how to make her moan.

See if, this time around, I could make her scream.

Chapter Eleven

EVIE

I’d sat, staring mesmerized as Riley had stripped. Right there in the open for anyone to see, like he hadn’t a care in the world, and I couldn’t even catch my damn breath. When I’d said he’d filled out, I’d had no idea. No idea.

I’d watched the muscles in his bare back flex with each movement he’d made. He’d somehow managed to make reaching for his tank and tugging it over his head look like an art form. Too focused on his broad shoulders, the defined cut of his arms, I hadn’t noticed he was shucking his jeans until he’d already nearly had the shorts he’d been changing into over his ass, but I’d still managed to catch a glimpse of skintight black—boxer briefs, if his old preferences were anything to go by. And I hated that I remembered what kind of underwear he wore.

If I was honest with myself, though, I knew that the remembrances of our time together didn’t start and end there. I remembered everything.

Riley wasn’t someone easily forgotten.

Sitting there watching him, I’d wanted to freeze the moment and stare at it forever. Stare at him forever. But more than that, more than just sitting and watching, I’d wanted to go to him. I’d wanted to be the kind of girl who could stand up from the couch, walk up to him, put my hand around the back of his neck and tug him down to me, and press my lips to his while I pressed everything else against every hard inch of him.

And the thing was, I was that girl. I’d never had problems taking control of that part of my life, making sure I was the one in charge in the bedroom. In fact, that was what I preferred. And not just what I preferred, but the only thing I allowed.

Except now, I wasn’t that girl. I couldn’t be, because I had this ring on my finger and a fiancé in London, and I wasn’t allowed to stare at my ex-boyfriend like I wanted to drag him to the floor and ride him until neither of us could see straight.

So, of course, I’d done the next most logical thing. I’d stripped from my yoga pants and hoodie, going over to him in my tank top and boy shorts, offering to be his sparring partner. Because that would certainly abate the heat that was burning inside me.

“Since when do you spar?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

Crossing my arms against my chest, I said, “Since five years ago when I started running from people. I had to figure out a way to protect myself. Just in case.”

He nodded, and if I wasn’t mistaken, I saw the glint of appreciation in his eyes when he looked back at me. “Do you normally work with a partner?”

“That’s how I learned.”

“Okay.” He appraised me, his gaze landing on every inch of me, and I tried to control the shiver that ran up my spine, but by the smirk on his face, the heat in his eyes when he locked them with mine, I wasn’t successful. When he’d finished his perusal of my body, he took a step forward, bringing his toes within an inch of mine, and leaned down, his face so close the heat from his breath whispered across my lips. I wanted to close my eyes and breathe him in. Wanted to lean forward and see if his lips were as soft as I remembered. See if he still tasted the same. Wanted to run my hands over his chest and shoulders, see how different he felt now. Wanted to get lost in him. Wanted to be found.

Instead, I just stared at him while he stared at me, and then he broke the silence. “Let’s see what you’ve got, baby.”