Page 55 of Meet Me In The Dark
“Sounds terrifying,” I deadpan, not in the mood to continue whatever the hell it is that we’re doing.
Nathan can sense it, so we keepgoing until sweat drips into our eyes.
“Jesus,” he mutters, grinning through the blood. “You’re still an angry shit.”
“Still?” I echo, breathless. “You were always the sensitive one.”
Mateo barks from the side, “You two finished dry humping, or should I get the hose?”
We both limp to opposite corners of the ring and collapse onto the benches.
Neither of us speaks for a minute. Not because there’s nothing to say, but because that’s what happens after the gloves come off. You bleed a little, sweat a lot, and feel more like yourself than you do in a boardroom full of men who smile while plotting your downfall.
Eventually, we hit the showers.
By the time we’re back in the locker room, toweling off and getting dressed, Nathan slaps my shoulder and grabs his bag.
“Airport’s calling,” he says.
I pucker my lips and smack them together. “Give Sienna a kiss from me.”
“Not fucking likely,” he calls over his shoulder just before he leaves.
Finally dressed, I step outside into the fading afternoon light, tugging my coat on with one hand and reaching for my keys with the other.
“Mr. Blackwood!”
I turn and see Dylan Reyes jogging toward me.
He’s taller than the last time, but he still has the same battered backpack slung over one shoulder.
He approaches me with his hand out. I shake it.
“Sir,” he says, a little breathless. “I saw your car out front. It sticks out around here.”
I arch a brow at him.
“Don’t worry. Nobody will touch it. Everyone knows you own it.”
“You keeping up at school?” I ask.
“Yes, sir. I’m back on the football team. Coach says I’m fast.”
“Good man.” I clap a hand to his shoulder. “You come by the offices again in a couple of weeks for summer, all right?”
Last year, he came in for some paid work experience. It kept him off the street and out of the mess his father left behind.
He nods. “Yes, sir. Appreciate it.”
I raise another brow.
“I mean, yes…Julian. Thanks.”
“See you around, Dylan.”
He jogs toward the gym as I get into the car.
It hums to life beneath my fingers, but I don’t shift into gear. Instead, I pull out my phone and open Sinclair Architecture’s website.
