Page 106 of Rebel Hawke

A furious flurry that seems to have no end.

“All right. All right. That’s enough.” The other trainer climbs between the ropes and moves to pull Atlas off him.

But the man’s words were enough to make him stop his attack and retreat.

Atlas steps back, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his entire body. He spits out his mouth guard and turns to look at Gramps, his eyes widening slightly when they find me watching him.

His lips quirk up, and he slowly makes his way over, leaning against the ropes to look down at us. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.”

He waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Want to head home?”

I know exactly what he’s suggesting we head homefor, though I don’t know how he has any energy after that display. The sheer power he harnesses should intimidate anyone. Itdoes. Everyone except me.

“As much as I’d love to accept the invitation”—I glance out of the corner of my eye at Gramps—“for a romantic dinner.” I fight a grin, and Atlas smirks. “I have two more classes tonight, and then I’ll figure out a meal.”

He nods slowly, that smirk that tells me he wantsmeto behismeal all too prevalent. “I’m going to head home when I’m done here. Bishop will arrive before I leave to watch the studio and bring you back after your last class.”

I want to argue with him about the need to have Bishop with me all the time, but she or one of the other Hawke security team have been glued to me like a shadow, even worse than before, since Satriano approached me at the event, so there’s no point.

It’ll only upset Atlas more and start an argument we’ve had half a dozen times already.

Instead, I force a demure smile. “Okay.”

His blond brows rise. “You’re not going to argue with me this time, Little Bird?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

Gramps looks between the two of us. “Is it because I’m here?”

Laughing, I grin at him. “You, of all people, should know that doesn’t matter.”

He tsks. “You always were a feisty one.” His gaze cuts to his protégé. “I don’t know how you handle her.”

Atlas gives me a look that ensures he’s going to be handling me quite well tonight. “Very carefully, Old Man. Very carefully.”

ATLAS

I pickat my plate of grilled chicken, steamed broccoli and asparagus, and lightly dressed tomatoes, cucumbers, and avocado while the delicious scents of Nana’s lasagna, baked ziti, garlic bread, antipasto tray, and all the other usual Sunday dinner fixings fill the dining room, making my stomach rumble.

Each week, it gets harder and harder to choke this shit down while we sit here surrounded by my favorite food on the planet.

I should be used to it by now, after the sheer number of training camps and cuts I’ve done over the years. But there’s just something about Nana’s lasagna that gets me.

Every.

Single.

Time.

I eye it sitting in the middle of the table, my mouth watering—

“Don’t even think about it.” Isaac’s voice cuts through my longing.

Fuck.

I jerk up my head and look at him.

---