He’s right, and I hate it. The idea of letting my guard down terrifies me more than any opponent I’ve ever faced. But the alternative is continuing to fight my own body—a battle I’m starting to lose.
“Fine,” I say, not looking at him. “I’ll think about it.”
Riley nods, accepting this small victory. “That’s all I ask.”
We exit the locker room together, my face burning from our conversation, Riley following a step behind with his usual composure. The gym is back to normal activity, though I notice several curious glances our way.
Renata hurries over, her eyes scanning Riley for damage. “Are you okay? I was afraid he strangled you in there.”
I snort, heading back toward the training area without waiting for his response. But I hear it anyway, his calm voice carrying across the gym:
“As you can see, he hasn’t.” A pause. “Not yet, anyway.”
Something about the way he says it makes me want to turn around. Instead, I keep walking, trying to ignore the growing certainty that Riley Shepard is about to unravel everything I’ve built my life around.
11
Jacob
I pace around my apartment for the tenth time, checking the clock again. Twenty minutes till Riley arrives. The salt bath I took earlier has done fuck all to calm my nerves. I’ve never been this jittery before a championship fight, but the thought of Riley walking through my door has my heart pounding like I’m about to step into the cage with The Butcher all over again.
I tug at my t-shirt, second-guessing my decision to put on clothes. Last time I met him half-naked, and things got… complicated. Maybe the shirt creates some semblance of normalcy between doctor and patient. The gray cotton clings to my still-damp skin. I took a second shower after the bath, scrubbing until my skin felt raw. Clean. Prepared.
For what exactly, I’m not sure I want to admit.
I check my phone: eighteen minutes. Fuck. Time’s crawling.
I sit on the couch, then immediately stand again. The tension in my body won’t let me stay still. I walk to the kitchen, pour a glass of water, drain it in one long gulp, then pour another. My eyes drift to the bedroom door, slightly ajar. The sheets I changed an hour ago. The towels I set out. The bottle of lube hidden in my nightstand drawer.
Just in case.
I pull out my phone again and stare at my browser history: “prostate massage benefits,” “prostate massage techniques,” “first time anal male.” I close the tabs quickly, like Riley might somehow see them through the door. But the images and information are already seared into my brain. I know what to expect now. I know what he might do.
Do I want it? Well, that’s the million-dollar question right there.
The buzzer sounds, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I check the time: ten minutes early. Of course he is. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the riot in my chest, and press the intercom.
“Hey,” I say, hoping my voice sounds normal. “Come up.”
I buzz him in, then stand in the middle of the room, not sure what to do with myself. Should I open the door? Wait for him to knock? I settle on the latter, shoving my hands in the pockets of my joggers to keep them still.
Three sharp knocks, and I’m moving toward the door like I’m being pulled by a magnet. I open it to find Riley standing there in dark jeans and a forest green sweater that brings out his eyes. He looks exactly as he always does—calm, collected, completely in control of himself.
“Hello, Jacob,” he says, stepping past me into the apartment. His voice holds none of the uncertainty churning inside me. “You’re looking well.”
I clear my throat. “Thanks.”
Riley scans me from head to toe, taking in the t-shirt and joggers. His expression gives nothing away, but I feel exposedunder his gaze nonetheless. Like he can see right through the fabric to the skin beneath, can read every thought in my head.
“Shall we get started?” he asks, gesturing toward my home gym.
“Actually,” I say, the words sticking in my throat, “I was thinking we could use my bedroom this time.”
Riley raises one eyebrow, the only indication of surprise on his otherwise composed face.
Heat crawls up my neck. “It’s more comfortable than the bench. And… convenient.” The word sounds stupid even to my own ears. Convenient for what?
Riley studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Lead the way.”