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His gaze jumps to mine. “You remember?” There’s a note of apprehension to the question.

Because he returned the sentiment, didn’t he? Before I passed out. He marked me as his final resting place, too.

In the pretense of a stretch, I partially cover my face with the back of my hand before telling him, “Yeah. I believe you said you were scared my pussy will be the death of you.”

Khaos’s laugh is contagious and makes me bite my lip to keep from joining in.

“I didn’t say I was scared of that.”

Although I was joking, his emphasis on the word “that” makes me think he’s not. Did he admit to being scared of something else? I wrack my brain but all I remember is my comment about him being afraid of commitment. He denied that, but did he correct me, too? If so, that’s another memory trapped in last night’s booze-filled haze.

“What did you say you were scared of?” I ask, hoping he’ll tell me.

“You.”

Now I let out a laugh. It echoes in the balmy air.

“What could possibly be scary about me?”

“Your hold on me.” He says it without so much as cracking a smile. He’s serious, more serious than I’ve ever seen him.

A moment of total silence passes until I quietly tell him, “I think you overestimate my grip.”

“I’ve felt your grip. In multiple ways.” With a glance down between his legs, he smirks. “It’s unwavering.”

“Not for punches.”

“Is that what those were?”

My frown makes him grin.

“Actually, that reminds me. I need to teach you how to hit.” Trunks in hand, he pulls them onto his legs before standing and dragging them the rest of the way up.

I’m so busy mourning the loss of Khaos’s naked body, I almost miss his hand reaching out toward me.

I look from it to his face.

“Now? Aren’t you kind of a mess?”

“I was gonna jump in the pool first.”

“Did you really need to get dressed for that?” I complain as if that is the greatest tragedy.

Khaos removes his trunks in one smooth motion.

A giddiness takes over me. I think I’m going to like having some power.

What was supposed to be a quick rinse-off turned into a few more circuits around the lazy river as we talked and laughed about different things—all while naked. After drying off, we realized how hungry we were, so we went up for lunch. Khaos made everything, of course. And now, sated in every way possible, we’re in the gym.

Unfortunately, we’re no longer naked. While Khaos is wearing a white tank and athletic shorts, I’m in a baby-blue crochet-knit set consisting of a crop top and high-waisted shorts.

“All right, so first thing, watch your opponent’s body. Not their eyes. They can look anywhere they want, but their body’s gonna tell you exactly where they’re going.”

“Opponent?”

“Uh…attacker. I mean attacker. If you’re gonna slap him, your hand needs to be like this.”

Grabbing my right hand, he shows me how to hold my fingers out straight and together.