Her smile grows as she takes the teasing in jest. “I owe it to you, you know. Being able to start over like I have. I bought an apartment. A small two bedroom in Sunset Park. Might not sound like much, but it’s mine.”
“You’ve got no idea how good it feels to hear that, stray.” The pet name for her slips out before I think better of it. I clear my throat and add, “I mean… Jhene.”
“Stray’s still okay,” she says softly. “I like when you call me that. It’s our history together, you know? Anyway, what about you? What have you been up to?”
I give a shrug. “The usual. Training. Working. Trying not to lose my mind.”
“I heard Sharapova retired.”
“Yeah, the bastard finally hung up his gloves. His belt’s up for grabs now. I’ve got a fight coming up against a guy named Big Eddie Nowak. Polish kid from Chicago. A few more braincells than the typical boxer.”
Jhene raises a brow. “Should I be worried?”
“About me?” I scoff. “Never, stray. I’ve taken worse beatings.”
“No need to remind me. Believe me, I remember.”
We fall silent as we circle the garden and then reach the entrance again. It’s not an awkward silence, more contemplative.
There’s still a fuck ton left unsaid between us. A lot of lingering feelings we share.
I rub at the back of my neck and think how best to speak what else is on my mind.
“I’ve thought about you a lot these past few months.”
Her eyes soften behind her glasses as she peers up at me. “I’ve thought about you too. More than I probably should’ve.”
We allow another brief moment of silence, filled only by the chirp of crickets and other insects lurking in the garden brush.
I can see myself reflected in her glasses. In her dark brown eyes.
I want to kiss her so damn bad it hurts.
My hands ache to grab hold of her. The same way my heart aches to make her mine again.
…but she asked for space. She needed time to figure herself out and heal from what Fedorov and the Bratva put her through.
I have to respect that even if it kills me.
I shove my hands into my pockets and take a small step back. Some distance to keep myself in check.
“Jhene, there you are!” Oona interrupts suddenly. The keeper of the house has wandered over with her head on a swivel. “Simone and Monique have been looking for you! You said you’d bring out the cake with them. Come, come, dear! It’s almost time to have Chantal blow out the candles!”
“Oh… right. Sorry, I’ll be right there.” Jhene’s gaze flicks back to me, and she offers a small, apologetic smile.
“Go ahead,” I say. “Don’t want to miss the birthday girl’s big moment.”
I watch her go as she turns and follows Oona back to the party. Then I let out a swear word and tip my head back to stare at the night sky.
Figuring out things between us is going to be harder than I thought.
Our talk in the garden is how we leave the night off. Jhene and I don’t get another chance to speak before the party ends and everybody’s headed home.
I spend the next two days steeped in regret, taking it out on my sparring partners at Malone’s.
By the time my training marathon’s over, I’m walking out the door with throbbing knuckles and sweat gleaming down the back of my neck.
Excellent for my preparation for my match against Big Eddie. Not so excellent for solving the biggest problem on my mind—the woman I can’t stop thinking about.
