She laughed. A real laugh. Not the throaty chuckle she used for press conferences or the polished giggle reserved for sponsor events. This was raw and a little ugly and completely genuine.
"You're such an asshole."
"I've been told."
"By how many women, exactly?"
"At this point? I've lost count."
She turned in the water until she faced me, her knees on either side of my hips and her hands on my shoulders. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub. Neither of us cared. Her hair clung to her neck and collarbones in wet crimson ropes, and her eyes held that particular gleam that meant trouble.
"Tell me about them."
"Now?"
"Yes, now. I want to know what I'm getting into." She tilted her head. "Besides, Kuzmina already hates me. Might as well understand why."
I considered deflecting. Considered a joke or a redirect or any of the dozen escape routes my brain automatically mapped. But Reyna had stripped herself bare tonight in more ways than one. She'd earned honesty.
