Page 14 of Through Any Fire (Any x #1)

“Deep breaths. You’ll be fine.” Jude places a gloved hand on my back and leans down. He rubs his hand in what he probably thinks is a soothing motion, and I suck in a breath, straightening. But I can’t seem to meet his stare.

“Says you,” I gasp. The digital clock on the far wall shows it’s only been forty-five minutes, but I can’t be around him anymore.

“I gotta go.” I duck my gaze and lift the rope but freeze, finding a stone-cold Cohen staring Jude down.

Anger swirls behind his dark eyes, and his jaw ticks.

I can practically hear the murderous vitriol he wants to spit at my friend.

I shake my head and hop out of the ring, ripping off my gloves and tossing them into my bag. I wipe my face and neck with a towel and sling my bag over my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I grumble in a hushed voice to Cohen, who finally looks away from Jude. “I’m gonna go rinse off. Be back in five.”

Cohen nods curtly, then returns his glare to Jude, who’s already left the ring and is stalking back to his office.

The women’s bathroom is smaller than the men’s since there aren’t as many women training here, and I head straight for it.

There are two shower stalls and three toilet stalls, and I turn on the last shower.

With nimble fingers, I untie my braids and throw my hair into a bun, keeping it out of the water.

Four minutes later, I’m dressed in a comfy pair of cuffed gray sweats and a cropped black hoodie.

I put on a fresh pair of socks and stuff my feet into a pair of black slides, then shove my sweaty clothes into a separated compartment of my bag.

The bathroom barely had time to fill with steam by the time I leave.

The muffled hits of gloves landing on bags filters back in.

Cohen leans casually against the entrance to the bathroom and kicks off the wall to trail after me as we leave.

I wave to Jenna but refuse to look toward Jude’s office, instead, heading out into the chilly January day.

Misty rain falls from a dark cloudy sky, and I smile to myself.

I love the cold and the wet. It was one reason I never left the northeast coast.

Cohen and I jog over to the car and jump inside, where Cohen cranks the heat. My hands tingle as they thaw in front of the blower, and it reminds me to put my ring back on. Its weight is something I’ll need to get used to.

“Big ring,” Cohen says from the driver’s seat.

It is a big ring, and the oval diamond is breathtaking. I like the ring—love it, even—but what it symbolizes ruins any sense of beauty it could ever represent.

I nod. “Yes, it is.” There’s a sadness to my words that I don’t think someone I’ve known for all of five minutes will pick up on, so I let it go.

“So,” he says after an awkward moment of silence, “do you have a favorite shop to get your gowns from?”

Right, I need a dress. For my first public outing as Mrs. Keane.

I didn’t pack any formal dresses—because why would I?

—but it’s not like I really had any. I made good money from my books, but it wasn’t fuck-you money like the Keane’s are used to.

Most of my income goes to taxes and then bills.

I was now on the third book in my latest series, and my editor needed the next set of chapters by the end of next week, and the final chapters for the ghostwriting contract by the following Monday.

Which is a problem because I haven’t written a word since Mason went missing.

“No. I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” I say honestly. Because seriously, who has a favorite boutique? I do most of my shopping online, and since I work from home, most of my clothes are athleisure.

“Alright, I think I know a place.” Cohen shifts into drive and takes off. The misty greenery passes in a blur as we get onto the highway, and I lean my temple against the cool glass. The ride is quiet. Peaceful.

After about fifteen minutes, we take an exit and drive for another few miles on the main road, until we enter a parking lot. It looks like an outdoor shopping center but for luxury labels. Just in the first few stores, I see Prada, Chanel, and Cartier.

My eyes widen, and I turn to Cohen. “Seriously?”

His brows pinch together as he parks.

“You brought me here when I’m dressed like this?” I gesture to my sweats, slides, and hair that’s still damp from my workout.

He shrugs. “Your money’s just as good as theirs. Better, in fact.”

He has a point. I open my door and grab my wallet from my gym bag, following Cohen as he leads me through the land of luxury, straight toward a midsize boutique called Amor.

Soft, melodic music plays in the background, complimenting the white marble floors and natural light.

There are a few displays of clothes, and two associates chattering about the mannequin they’re styling.

Cohen clears his throat, and they slowly turn.

They’re both objectively beautiful, with glossy hair and perfectly tailored dresses .

The snootier-looking of the two eyes me up and down. Her lip curls disdainfully. “May we help you?” Derision drips from her painted lips, and she crosses her manicured hands over her chest.

Her haughty attitude and the weight of the rock on my hand spurn me, and confidence floods my body.

My shoulders straighten, and I lift my chin, refusing to let her make me feel less than.

“I’m looking for a dress. Something formal, but will make my husband jealous of anyone who sees me in it.

” I walk over to one gown on display and run my hands over the material.

“Something just borderline of scandalous.”

The woman’s eyes flash wide at the sight of my ring, and her smile turns practically feral. “Of course, ma’am,” she rushes out. “Here, follow me to the dressing room.”

Cohen—thankfully—opts to sit in an overstuffed chair and wait.

I follow the saleswoman and enter a grand dressing area with a raised circular platform in the center of the room.

Mirrors cover the entire left wall, while the right side contains extra-wide changing rooms. A plush cream couch and matching chairs rest along the far wall, and the saleswoman guides me to one.

“Here, have a seat, and I’ll bring out some options. Would you like anything to drink while you wait? Water, coffee, champagne?”

I shake my head. The saleswoman’s smile falters at my lack of excitement for her sudden gold star treatment, but she disappears quietly and returns with several options.

We spend the next half-hour trying on various dresses and styles.

They’re all beautiful, but something about them isn’t calling to me.

Finally, Cora—the snooty-turned-simpering saleswoman—brings out an emerald beauty.

I slip it on, and it hugs me like a glove.

The woman in the mirror looks out of place with her messy hair, but I can’t help but feel beautiful.

It’s a strapless, floor-length emerald dress with a slit all the way to my hip.

The neckline is almost sweetheart, but either side above my breasts comes to a point instead of the usual rounded edge.

Each step I take reveals my entire left leg.

I tug the strap of my thong over my hip to hide it.

I won’t be able to wear any underwear with this.

It’s perfect.

Cora enters the dressing room and pauses, her mouth parting in obvious approval. “That’s it,” she says. “Now for shoes.” She gently places a few boxes on a nearby chair.

Thirty minutes later, Cohen and I are back in the car and heading back to the residence. I bought enough to fill the trunk, including several other dresses and a few pairs of shoes. The entire ordeal was like a second workout entirely. I yawn and cover my mouth.

“Shopping must be so exhausting,” Cohen mocks in a lilting tone.

I just shrug, because he isn’t wrong. “Sorry, am I boring you? It was your idea to go shopping. I would’ve been fine ordering something online.”

There’s a distinct curl to his lips, but he doesn’t respond. He just flicks on his turn signal and merges onto the highway.

I grab my phone and call Alice. When she answers, I don’t even give her a chance to breathe before I’m asking, “Want to watch a movie on Facetime tonight? I miss you.”

“As if you even have to ask.” She laughs. “ Burlesque? ”

I smile and ignore the hulk of a man who does his best not to listen in. But by the wry twist of his mouth, it’s obvious he can’t help it.