But there was another thing she was good at.
And even though Novo had no right to care and no reason to notice and zero fucks to give, it was sublimely annoying to watch Peyton sneak those looks and linger in those doorways and pull those double takes whenever the female laughed.
The only thing that was even more irritating? That the shit was on Novo’s radar at all.
Peyton, son of Peythone, was nothing she was interested in. After all, some things, like not volunteering for a major limb amputation, were self-evident.
Plus hello, personal history.
Not with him specifically. But still.
So the fact that she’d even noticed the guy’s addiction to that other female was enough to make Novo want to beat her own ass.
As she turned to head for the shower stalls, she caught sight of herself in a full-length mirror—a fixture she was very sure wasn’t in the males’ locker room.
Which was really just so damned sexist—
Her thoughts dropped the mic on that familiar rant as her reflection registered. Her eyes had become hollow pits, and her stomach, left bare between her sports bra and her leggings, was concave, and her legs were swollen with muscle except for the tight bony knots of her kneecaps.
No hips, no tits, no female identifiers…even her long hair was bolted in a braid that hung as if in retreat down the powerful fans on either side of her spine.
Paradise could keep the chick shit and all the sidelong stares in the world. Far better to be strong as opposed to sensual. The latter got you admired…
The former kept you safe.
“Nope,” Peyton said. “Not interrupting anything at all.”
As he smiled at Craeg, he thought, Yuuuuup, it’s totally cool. I just told your girl I loved her while she thought I was still stuck on not wanting her to be in the training program. So yeah, conversationally speaking, we just faced off in a duel, where she had a gun and I had two paper clips and a rubber band. But it’s fine.
Although, hey, while we’re on the subject, maybe you want to slice my nut sac off and put my two veg in your back pocket? ’Cuz I won’t be needing them anymore after this.
Beelining for the door, he didn’t look at Paradise. In fact, there was a good possibility he was never looking at her again. But he was careful to guy-it-up with Craeg as he passed the male, giving him a clap on the shoulder.
“Can’t wait for tomorrow out in the field.” Unless he hung himself in the bathroom at home. In which case he was gonna be a no-show. “Good workout tonight. Fan-fucking-tastic.”
Especially if you counted the body slam he just did to his own ego. That little bitch wasn’t getting up again. Probably needed reconstructive surgery and a prosthesis.
Out in the corridor, he stopped and cursed. He’d left his fucking duffel in the break room, but he was not going back in there. Nope. No reason to catch the drift of the Paradise/Craeg Reunion Kiss #45,896, which would be followed by the OMG-guess-what-Peyton-just-said’s. The good news? Craeg was so into the program, and team leadership, and fighting the true enemy, that there was a strong possibility his bonded male wouldn’t be reaching for a dagger right now.
Still, it was probably a good idea to head down to the parking area. If only to buy himself some lead time on the run-away.
Even he wasn’t dumb enough to take on a bonded male. Especially one who was trained to kill things.
