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Hart shakes his head. “Back off him man. They know his worth.”

Skinner whistles. “Well, damn, now I feel like a dick for bringing it up.”

“You’re not wrong.” Hart chuckles.

We round the bend that leads toward The Stables, and Hart lets out a low whistle.

“Well, shit.” Skinner pulls his feet down and leans forward. “It doesn’t look like housing. It looks like a goddamnbase.Military-grade SUVs are parked along the perimeter. Construction gears stacked against the garages. Security teams I’ve never seen before are walking the sidewalks like it’s a recon mission, not a subdivision.”

“How the hell do you know what a military base looks like?” Hart asks.

He smiles. “Military brat.”

“How did we not know that when you tell us everything?” I ask.

“Not everything. But I will tell you this, I need to use the bathroom.”

“Lo’s bathrooms not working?” Hart asks.

“I need privacy. I have boundaries.”

Hart laughs. “You need privacy? Have boundaries?”

Skinner nods. “I do.”

“We can do that, right, Grimes?” Hart asks.

I lift my chin in response as he pulls up to the men at the main entrance.

“Do we get badges now?” Skinner mutters. “I’d like to request mine to say ‘Knight of Debauchery,’ because when this season is over and we’ve got that trophy, I’m gonna be high on all the orgasms I provide.”

Why wait?My inner voice has always been loud and self-deprecating, but I cannot find it in myself to regret one kiss, one touch.

They wave Hart through, faces unreadable, focused on the next vehicle.

Skinner, looking pretty uncomfortable, asks, “Do me a solid and head to my place first?”

* * *

Skinner’s place is exactly what one would expect—loud and lived-in with mix of hand-me-down furniture and expensive gaming tech. A pair of mismatched cleats sit on the coffee table next to a half-eaten protein bar and a wrestling championship belt he probably bought on eBay.

Hart heads to the kitchen, opens the fridge, and scowls. “Who the hell keeps mustard and Gatorade on the same shelf?”

“Same guy who buys things like this.” I hold up the wrestling belt.

“I’d buy that, but it would be framed and hung in the man cave.”

Our phones sound.

Hart has his in hand before I even remember what pocket I shoved mine in. “Pack for a week. Gear plus civvies. More details at Legacy.”

Skinner comes out looking … lighter. “The hell does that mean?”

“Means pack for a week, which I’d like to do, too,” I answer. “We all need to get to the stadium on time.”

“This doesn’t rattle you two at all?” Skinner asks.

I meet Hart’s eyes and, for once, he looks just as unsure as I feel. But I square my shoulders. “We’ve signed a contract; we’re bound. No sense questioning it.”