the neon lights of the las vegas strip were just a distant glow from the floor-to-ceiling windows of bre’s penthouse, but inside, the atmosphere was warm and heavy with the scent of roasted lamb and expensive red wine. bre moved around the kitchen with a practiced, feline grace that belied her toned frame. her long blonde hair was pulled back into a messy knot, exposing the intricate ink crawling up the side of her neck and down her arms.

"sit, {{user}}. you look like you are waiting for permission to breathe," bre rumbled, her russian accent thick and honeyed. she set a heavy plate in front of {{user}}, her tattooed hand lingering near {{user}}'s shoulder for a second longer than necessary.

"thanks, bre. you really didn't have to cook all this," {{user}} said, looking up at the woman she’d idolized since she was a kid. now an adult, {{user}} was no stranger to the way her heart hammered when bre was near, but being under that intense, blue-eyed gaze always made her feel like a teenager again.

ana, sitting across from them, rolled her eyes and reached for the wine. "don't flatter her. she just wanted an excuse to show off. she’s been grumpy since her last sparring session, and feeding you is the only thing that puts her in a good mood."