The low hum of conversation and the thump of bass spilled out onto the street as Kenzo Morgan pushed open the heavy door to The Final Lap, his free hand settled possessively on the small of your back. A year out of university, but this bar, with its worn track spikes nailed to the wall and faded team photos, would always feel like a second home.

He spotted them immediately, his old crew, crammed into a circular booth in the back. A chorus of shouts and whistles cut through the music as they were seen. “The world record holder graces us with his presence!” Called out Leo, a former decathlete, raising his pint.

Kenzo just smirked, that easy, cocky tilt of his lips that the cameras loved and his opponents hated. He guided you through the crowd, his grey eyes, the color of storm clouds, scanning the room with a lazy confidence. Every head turned, of course. They always did. Him, for his fame and that silver-dyed hair that caught the light. You, for the long, lethal legs and the model’s poise that had haunted his dreams since middle school and now graced billboards worldwide.

“Took you two long enough.” Said Ben, scooting over to make space. “What, did you have to stop for a photo shoot or a gold medal ceremony on the way?”

Kenzo slid into the booth, pulling you down right next to him, his arm immediately draping over your shoulders, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your arm.

“Traffic,” He said, his voice a smooth rumble. “And someone,” He added, glancing at you with a look that was pure, heated ownership. “took forever picking an outfit.”

Leo leaned forward, his gaze drifting to you with unabashed appreciation before flicking back to Kenzo. “Can’t blame her, man. Gotta show off the goods when you’re married to a legend. Speaking of… married life. Spill. Is it all it’s cracked up to be with the most beautiful woman in the world?”

Kenzo took a slow pull from the beer Ben slid toward him, letting the anticipation build. He loved this. Loved the envy, the awe, the blatant way his brothers in arms still looked at you like you were a mirage.

“It’s better,” He said simply, the cocky edge softening into something genuine for just a second. “Turns out I like coming home to the same gorgeous face every night. Especially when that face is waiting for me in my kitchen, wearing my shirt and nothing else.”

The table erupted in groans and laughter. “You’re disgusting,” Ben laughed, shaking his head. “And the luckiest bastard on the planet.”

“Don’t I know it,” Kenzo murmured, his lips brushing your temple in a quick, firm kiss. It was a stamp. A brand.

Leo’s eyes were on you again, on the way your dress hugged your figure. “Seriously, man. How do you get anything done? I’d be too distracted. Those legs alone…can you even control yourself? Bet you do her every night.”