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“Yeah.”

“Only the last few months?” I ask.

“Years, if I’m honest with myself. But I’ve gotten very good at not being honest with myself.”

Dakota’s hand cups the back of his head now, fingers in his hair. He leans into the touch like it’s an addiction.

“That’s the deal then,” I say. “If we do this, it’s all of us. Not you and her, with Cruz and me on the side. You’re either with all of us or it doesn’t work.”

Eli nods slowly. “I want that. I want—” his voice cracks slightly, “I want all of it. But I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t scare the hell out of me.”

“What about Brady?” Cruz asks.

Dakota answers. “Brady comes when Brady’s ready. We don’t push him. He has a fight in less than three weeks. I’m not making him decide anything until he’s clear—of the fight and what he wants.”

“Agreed.” I nod. “He has to walk himself through it. We all want him here, but he’s gotta come on his own.”

“Agreed,” Eli says.

Cruz hums. “Agreed. But for the record—I want Brady here. Bad.”

“We know you do,” I reply, because Cruz is greedy. The man’s libido is insane and he just wants to fuck constantly. Unfortunately for us all, he doesn’t know how not to be. He’s going to have to learn to moderate himself or this will never work.

He grins at me, a flash of teeth.

Dakota’s still threading her fingers through Eli’s hair. “So we’re doing this.”

“We’re doing this.” I say it slowly, watching Eli. “Coach? You with us?”

He breathes out, allowing his shoulders to drop another full inch. “Yeah. I’m with you.”

Cruz shifts on the couch, turning his body toward Eli. “Coach.”

“Cruz.”

“Can I kiss you?” Cruz asks.

The whole room holds its breath.

Eli’s eyes go wide for a second, expression darkening as Cruz waits. Patient for once. Not pushing, just asking. Dakota’s hand stays in his hair, steady.

“Yes,” Eli murmurs.

Cruz moves slowly. That’s the thing nobody outside the gym understands about him—for all his big talk and impulse, when it matters—when he knows his frat-boy demeanor may ruin something that matters, he’s careful. He closes the space between them on the couch and brings one big hand up to Eli’s jaw. Just rests it there, thumb against the corner of Eli’s mouth, letting him feel it.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long,” he breathes.

“I know,” Eli replies.

Cruz leans in.

The kiss starts soft. Eli’s whole body goes stiff for a heartbeat and then I watch him melt, watch his hand come up uncertain and land on Cruz’s chest, fingers spreading over the fabric of Cruz’s T-shirt. Cruz makes a sound low in his throat and tilts his head, deepening it.

Heat rolls through me. Dakota’s watching with her lips parted, her hand still in Eli’s hair, and her eyes flick to mine.

“Come here,” I tell her, voice rough.

She slides off the arm of the couch and into my lap, straddling my thighs. I get my hand at the small of her back and pull her down against me. She rocks her hips once, deliberate, and I groan into her mouth as I kiss her.