Beads of sweat drip down Xaden’s bare torso, following the valleys of his muscles as his chest heaves. He slowly circles the mat, his eyes honed on Garrick on the opposite side. The playful jabs and taunts in jest have long passed, leaving them in intense focus. The tips of his fingers swipe the sweat from his forehead, flicking the matted hair from his forehead. Even the roar of his aching muscles won’t make him stop any time soon. Though he yearns for the hot shower that will greet him once he finally does.

His best friend’s eyes drift over Xaden’s shoulder, before the corners of his mouth flick upwards, a look that instantly fills Xaden with annoyance and dread.

“We have an audience,” Garrick quips.

He keeps his features schooled, though there’s no denying the way Xaden’s back straightens. How it hadn’t occurred to him before now is beyond him. Now that he’s out of the tunnel vision that the spar had him in, it’s so obvious that the hairs on the back of his neck seem to rise with it. The charge in the air is undeniable, radiating a feeling Xaden continues to remain unexplored.

Dropping his arms back to his sides, Xaden finally throws a glance over his shoulder to the only thing that could ever distract him.

“Enjoying the show?”