Page 72 of 1 Last Shot

Her confusion doesn't fade. Her gaze darts over my face, taking in the tired look in my eyes. "You just got home from work?" she guesses.

I nod. She doesn't need to know that ‘just’ is a stretch.

Her expression becomes worried. "You should go to bed, you're probably exhausted."

I shrug and admit, "I wanted to see you."

She visibly melts at that, and her cheeks pinken as a happy smile appears on her face. "I've been wanting to see you, too," she whispers shyly.

I take that as the confirmation I needed and take a slow step into her space again. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I pull her against my body, letting out a pleased hum when she braces her hands on my chest.

"Our schedules don't really seem to align," I muse.

"No, they don't," she agrees quietly. She pauses, then adds, "I'm glad you came over this morning."

I swallow roughly. "Yeah?"

She nods immediately, the want on her face obvious as she stares up at me. I decide that's all the green light I need.

"I was thinking maybe I could see you in the mornings before you go to work," I suggest tentatively. "I could make you breakfast, even."

Andfuck, but every single shred of nerves and doubt and worry that I had evaporates at the sight of the bright smile that appears on her face. She almost looksrelievedthat I offered.

I decide then that I don't care if I'm being needy or pussy-whipped or a fucking idiot for wanting to be with a person that will undoubtedly wise up and leave me in the end. If this is all the time I get with her, I want all of it.

"Are you sure you're not too tired?" she asks hesitantly. "I know you have long days with training and working."

I have to smother the grin that wants to appear on my face. "I'm sure."

Relief fills her expression. But then something occurs to her, because she asks, "What time do your work shifts start again?"

"Usually 7, sometimes 9. Why?"

She bites her lip before saying nervously, "Because I was thinking about it too, and… I usually get done dancing at 6. Maybe I could see you if you pick me up from the school? Or was the other day just because you started late?"

"I can pick you up," I respond, not caring how quickly it comes out.

Her smile is blinding. "Okay, great," she breathes.

And then I can'tnotkiss her again. With my arm still around her waist, it's easy to drop my head and take her mouth.

It'snoteasy to pull away before it escalates.

But I'm determined to spend the morning with her. And I don't even care that I've been up for almost twenty-four hours, because hearing Isabella sit at the counter and happily chirp away about some book she just picked up now that she has free time is enough to fill my chest with contentment. I merely listen, and occasionally hum in response, as I make eggs and bacon for our breakfast.

And when I leave her apartment twenty minutes later, I’m not even bummed that I only got a little bit of time with her. Because it’s more than I had yesterday.

* * *

After a few hours of shut-eye, I head to training. I’ve been bringing Oscar to the gym with me, since not having enough time for him was one of my biggest concerns about keeping him, and because I just hate leaving him at home by himself. Thankfully, the gym is walking distance from the apartment. It helps, too, that Coach brings in his bulldog that he named the gym after, so the two dogs even get a little bit of socialization while the rest of us work out.

I anticipate my workout being shittier because of the change in my sleep schedule, but the opposite seems to happen. Whether it’s because I don’t have any energy, or because I’m so tired that I don’t have any room for stress, but my technique is on point at the gym today. My rolls during jiu-jitsu fall into a relaxing rhythm and I don’t have nearly as many aggressive outbursts during sparring. And the most shocking part? I don’t have any flashbacks when I get hit.

I expect it to be a fluke, but a few days later I’m still feeling good. Still feeling relaxed when I train, and calm when I spar. I feel like I’m on a whole other level of fighting.

I’m hitting the heavy bag, working a new combo and trying to get my weight distribution right, when Coach approaches me.

“If you want to fix your balance, step further to the left before you throw that kick,” he says without my having to ask.

---