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“I can do that,” she says, pointing to the rolls. “I wrap my feet and ankles for dance.”

“No shit?”

“Sometimes I even wrap the other girls.” She slides the cup and mouthguard out of the way and straddles the bench next to me. “Hold out your hand.”

I mimic her position, so that we’re face to face, knee to knee. I lift my hand between us and she grabs the white tape, quickly looping it around two fingers, eyes focused on my knuckles. Her hands are small but sure. Every wrap pulls just tight. She doesn’t ask what I need. She already knows. Drawing in my thumb, she hooks it into place, securing the tape. Those tiny hands are firm. Confident.

“Are you scared?”

“No.”

“Oh, it’s just that you haven’t taken a breath since I started.”

Refusing to prove her point, I hold onto my breath a moment longer before taking a short inhale and releasing it. The wrist wrap comes next–crossing over the back of my hand like armor, looping tight, reinforcing the same bones I’ll be throwing at Porterfield’s face in under thirty minutes. But her touch isn’t clinical. It’s respectful. Ritualistic.

Reminds me of how I set up my tools before a piercing.

“I was seventeen at a ‘last chance’ wilderness program,” I blurt. “It was a lot of bullshit, but better than group homes or detention. That’s where I learned archery and how to use the crossbow, how to gut a fish, and build a fire.” She turns my wrist around, smoothing out the tape, then gestures for my other hand. “It was a group of non-violent offenders, prime forrehabilitation.” I roll my eyes. “We hiked all day and at night we’d set up camp, build a fire and cook dinner. It can always be a little tense when you have eight oppositionally-defiant, adrenaline and hormone-fueled teenagers in one place. Tempers flare over stupid shit all the time, but one night everyone was just tired and on edge…” The memory of that night is still raw, even after all this time. One second, everything had been normal, the next… “...we were just sitting there, eating our cowboy dinner–”

“What’s a cowboy dinner?”

“It’s a little packet you make with foil to cook meat and vegetables and potatoes and shit over the fire.”

“Oh.”Riiiiiip.She tears off a small piece of tape with her teeth. “Then what?”

“Everything was fine, until our leader, Jake, decided he wanted to get to the bottom of why everyone was so tense. Pot stirring, really. He made us go around and talk about our feelings. It’s mostly a lot of petty grievances. Someone took too many potatoes, or didn’t do their fair share of firewood collection. This one kid, Brad, he never wanted to talk, even though we all knew counseling is a requirement for being in the program. A lot of times, Jake would let shit slide, but that night he didn’t. He wasn’t going to let us go until Brad engaged.” It was a fucking stand-off, and he was getting more and more pissed. “I was tired from hiking all day, had a blister on my foot, and was over the drama. I stood up to leave and Brad just snapped. He jumped me. He was a big guy, had fifty pounds and five inches on me. He flung his arm around my chest and grabbed one of the knives left out from prepping dinner.” Arianette stopped taping. Stopped moving entirely. I look up and meet her wide brown eyes. “I barely felt it. Just a pinprick at first. But then the blood started to spill. Honestly, I don’t remember much.” I know they managed to radio a helicopter and get me life-flighted toForsyth General. “The cut itself wasn’t that deep, but the loss of blood was substantial.” I shrug. “So yeah, death wasn’t wearing a mask. He was a dumbass kid with an attitude problem.”

The second I finish speaking, I instantly regret revealing all of that. I hate talking about it. Hate the feelings it brings back. Arianette’s eyes are fixed on the scar, then she blinks to refocus on my hand. Quietly, she finishes the last loop and tears the tape with her teeth again. “There. That should hold.”

“Huh.” I stretch them both out, testing the support. “That’s pretty good.”

“You probably need to take out the piercings.”

“Right.” I start with my eyebrow, pushing each one free from the skin, then nose and lip.

“I’ll keep them safe.” She offers her hand, and I place each one in the center of her palm. Her eyes flit to my chest, to the hoops in each nipple. I’d shown them to her once before, and my cock thickens thinking of that night, how well she took my needle.

“You want to take them out?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. “See how it’s done?”

She pushes her hand into her pocket, secreting away the jewelry she’s already collected. My eyes are drawn to the ties on the sides of her shorts. It’s obvious she’s not wearing panties and Mateo was right. It would only take one quick yank.

Those quick, small fingers that just skillfully wrapped my hands, graze my chest, moving to the ring on the left side. The pad of her finger touches the bead, pulling gently on my skin. I hiss, the sensation sending a jolt through me. Swallowing, I explain, “There’s a dimple in the bead. You’ll just need to pop it out.”

She’s hesitant, much more so than a few moments ago with the tape. Probably because her own piercings are so sensitive.“You don’t have to be so gentle,” I tell her, using my finger to flick the ball. “I can take it.”

That loosens her up a little, but she still uses a soft touch, one that actually makes this moment more sensual than I wanted. Slowly, she pops the ring out of the ball, then takes her time easing the stainless steel wire out. My cock throbs between my legs, thickening under the compression shorts, solid against my thigh. I look at her chest and see the bars pressing into her top, she’s turned on too.

The blood drains from my head, straight down to my dick. It would be so easy to tell her to get on her knees. To do what Bronwyn promised and suck me off before the fight starts.

“It’s time.” Carson bursts through the door, and the wild energy of the crowd follows him. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” I reach for the hoop on the right side, and tell her, “I’ve got it,” because the last thing I need is her touching me more. I give her the final ring, and she tucks it away with the others.

“What now?” she asks, standing up when I do.

I twist my neck, cracking it on both sides. “I guess it’s time for me to go kick some Bruin ass.”

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