Page 93 of The Next Lie

The door opens, and Reva freezes beneath me. I turn my head.

Shiloh stands in the doorway with two coffees in one hand and a paper bag in the other. His gaze takes in the scene fast: clothes on the mats, gloves near the heavy bag, Reva under me, me very much still over her.

He sighs like a man personally wronged by fate.

“Aww, hell.” He steps inside and lets the door swing shut behind him. “I always miss the good stuff.”

Reva makes a sound into my shoulder, her body shaking in mirth and doing things to mine, still lodged inside her. “Oh my God.”

I don’t move off her immediately.

Shiloh lifts the coffee tray. “I brought breakfast, which now feels like really poor timing on my part.”

“Turn around,” I tell him.

“I am wounded by your lack of hospitality.”

“Shiloh.”

He turns, facing the wall of practice knives with an exaggerated sigh. “For the record, this is exactly why we need a schedule.”

Reva cranes her neck to see around my shoulder. Her face is bright red. “A schedule?”

I lift off of her and ease back enough to shield her while she reaches for the hoodie. “It was my turn.”

Shiloh looks over his shoulder, and I give him a death glare.

He turns back around, but the grin is obvious in his voice. “Your turn.”

“Yes.”

“What about my turn?”

“You had your turn already. My turn was technically last night, but was postponed.”

“That sounds like forfeiture language, and I object.”

Reva yanks the hoodie over her head. “I cannot believe this is happening while I’m naked from the waist down.”

Shiloh raises one hand. “I am respectfully facing a wall.”

“No, you are gleefully facing a wall.”

“Well, that’s true enough.”

I hand Reva her leggings and stand to pull my clothes on. She snatches them from me and wrestles them on under the hoodie with as much dignity as possible, which is not much. Especially when I graze my hand over her bare ass.

Shiloh clears his throat. “If we are discussing fairness⁠—”

“We’re not,” Reva says. “My body, my say.”

“—a rotating schedule only seems practical.”

“No.”

“Alphabetical order favors me.”

“How do you figure?” I say. “My name starts with an E, dumbass.”