Page 9 of Filled

“Don’t say it like that,” I retort.

“I’m not saying anything,” Brady replies.

“You’re doing the face,” I point out.

“I don’t have a face.”

“You have so many faces,” Dante tells him, stealing Brady’s untouched second napkin for his fingers. He catches my eye when he says it, and I feel it land in my chest. It’s warm and direct, like standing in a patch of sun. “So she’s beautiful, and she can fight. What’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem,” I murmur.

Dante gives me a long look. “Cruz…”

“There’s a situation.”

Brady sets his beer down. “What did you do?”

“Nothing bad.” I pause. “Eli was doing the whole repressed-tornado thing he does, you know, where he’s clearly thinking something but his face is doing the constipated look thing, and I might have made a suggestion.”

“What kind of suggestion?” Brady asks.

“The kind where I told him he should bend her over something while I…”

“Jesus Christ,” Brady says.

“While I’m inside him.” I finish the sentence cleanly and reach for a wing. “It’s not a big deal.”

Dante bursts out laughing, the kind that doubles him forward over the table. A couple at the bar glances over. He doesn’t care. Dante never cares. When he sits back up, his eyes are bright, and he’s looking at me with not only amusement but intrigue.

“You told Eli,” he wheezes, “You told Coach…”

“He went red up to his hairline,” I confirm. “And then he went half-hard in his shorts, which he was absolutely not happy about.”

Dante covers his face with both hands, still laughing. Brady is very still, his expression doing something complicated that I have a very good read on by now, even if he doesn’t know that.

“So you want her,” Dante says, getting himself under control. His voice drops just slightly on the word want, and it’s not directed at Dakota anymore, not entirely. “And you want Eli. And you want them at the same time.”

“I want a lot of things. Life is short.”

“You cannot sleep with Coach,” Dante states.

“I’m aware of the professional complications.”

“Cruz,” he presses.

“I said I’m aware.”

Dante leans forward, elbows on the table, and there’s genuine heat in his expression now. He doesn’t hide things. “Tell me she’s not that good-looking, because if she is and she can actually fight,” He exhales. “Man. That’s a lot.”

“She’s that good-looking.”

“Then you better not be starting an orgy without me,” Dante says, completely serious.

I laugh, real and loud. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m realistic. This is what happens when you put four decent-looking fighters in a training group, and one of them is a woman who apparently…”

“Who said four?” Brady asks.