Locker Room Reunion With Her Black Bull

Emily pushed open the heavy door to the women’s locker room and the familiar scent of bleach and old sweat hit her like a memory she had tried for years to bury. Twenty-eight, married three years, a tasteful silver band on her left hand, she had only come back to the old high-school gym because her husband insisted alumni reunions were “good for networking.” The place was empty—most people were already out on the main floor sipping cheap wine under basketball hoops—so she stripped out of her blouse and skirt without hurry, standing in just a pale lace bra and matching panties, her body softer and fuller than it had been at eighteen. She was folding her clothes when the door on the far side swung open.

Darius stepped in like he still owned every hallway. Twenty-nine now, thicker through the chest and arms, skin dark and smooth under the fluorescent lights, wearing a staff polo that strained across his shoulders. Assistant coach. Of course he was. Their eyes locked and the air went tight.

“Emily.” His voice was lower than she remembered. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

“Didn’t think you’d be back here.” She didn’t cover herself. The risk of someone walking in hummed under her skin, electric and stupid. “You look… bigger.”