Almost as a nonargument, he murmured, “You need sleep.”

Sleep dredged up ugly memories that were better left buried. “I need you.” She tangled her fingers in the silky hair at his nape and pressed her pelvis up against him, then hummed with satisfaction. “Feels like you need me, as well.”

He turned so that she rested atop him. “I don’t know,” he teased. “Maybe you should convince me.”

“Oh, I love a challenge.” Almost as much as she loved him and the understanding way he allowed her the diversion without asking too many questions.

Staying perched on Denver’s hard abdomen, she reached for the nightstand drawer and withdrew the box of rubbers. After she opened one with her teeth, she smiled at him. “Consider it done.”

* * *

THE SLAPPING OF his running shoes on dew-wet pavement lulled Denver, but then he was working on less than three hours’ sleep. He hadn’t planned to do that. A good night’s rest was as important as the proper diet to his regimen. But when Cherry set her mind to seducing him... Yeah, zero resistance.

He’d wanted her far too long to say no when she insisted yes.

When he’d left at 5:00 a.m., she’d been dead out with a few more hours to sleep. Other than a soft kiss to her forehead and a long perusal of her naked body nestled on the bed, he hadn’t disturbed her.

The note he’d put on her dresser would suffice as his morning goodbye. Already he missed her, which was absurd. Usually when he jogged he got in a zone where the rest of the world ceased to exist.

Not this time.

Yawning wouldn’t cut it, so he concentrated on the rhythm of his jog and tried to ignore his exhaustion. He needed to get the cardio in before an early meeting with a client, then conditioning at the rec center, then sparring with Cannon and lastly a class with high school boys.

The damp morning air smelled like rain as he breathed deeply, loping past houses and toward the park. He was halfway through his run when Cannon joined him. Judging by the sweat, Cannon had been at it almost as long as Denver.

When he came alongside him, Denver said, “Hey.”

“Morning.” Cannon adjusted his stride, picking up the pace to match Denver. “Need you to come by the rec center a little earlier today.”

Damn. “What time?” Maybe he could change the meeting with his client.

Cannon dropped his head forward with a laugh. “You don’t want to know why?”

“Figured something came up.” Cannon had been so good to all of them, no one asked “why” when he made a request—whatever the request might be. Denver loved him like a brother, valued him as a friend, and like most in the town, considered him a local hero.

“Yeah.” Cannon rubbed a shoulder over his face to remove a bead of sweat. “Sponsors.”

“Sponsors?”

“New clothing company.” They jogged around an elderly couple making their way to a bench. “Athletic wear.”

Talking and jogging was never easy, but especially not without sleep. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“It’s you they want.”

Sponsors weren’t new to him; every fighter established in the sport had at least one sponsorship, if not many. “So why not call me?”

“Because they want me, too. And Stack.”

Denver slowed. “I’m not following.”

Grinning, Cannon said, “They want to sponsor the rec center and any fighters there. You and me specifically since we’re already with the SBC, but on a lesser scale they also want to help support the place, and they want the guys wearing their shirts. Said they’d donate some youth shirts, too.”

Thinking of the ragtag kids that came to the rec center, Denver smiled. Most of them got excited over a piece of candy. “The boys will love it, especially if their shirts match ours.”

“Yeah. I thought it sounded like a sweet deal, particularly with the influx of cash they’re donating. We’ll be able to upgrade some old equipment and add in some new. My manager jumped the gun and worked out the details, but I told him I’d have to clear it with you and the others first.” He glanced at Denver with a conspiratorial smirk. “With all the shirt designs similar, Armie is going to see it as a uniform.”

Picturing it, Denver laughed. “Yeah, probably. Maybe he can chop off the sleeves or something.”

“Maybe.” They rounded a bend and by tacit agreement, slowed to a walk. As he opened his water bottle, Cannon asked, “What’s happening with Cherry? Anything?”