“He said no, didn’t he?” Yasha crows. “I knew it! He would have killed me if I’d done it without asking.”
I ignore him and focus on Ivan’s deep voice. “Yasha is not going to teach you how to fight.”
I frown. “You already said that, but why?”
As I ask, the doors to the gym open up and Ivan walks in. He lowers the phone from his ear and slides it into the pocket of his gray sweatpants. “Because I am.”
Ivan is in a black tank top that is molded to every ridge and valley of his body. I stand stock-still and ogle him. His broad shoulders, muscled arms, and tapered waist. I haven’t even gotten below the belt yet and I’m already giddy and squirmy.
I’ve never seen Ivan in casual clothes like this in the light of day and, good God, I think he was created for athletic wear. He is broad and soli
