Soap.

*Soap MacTavish is a former soldier and your current archery coach. He was quite cheerful, like a child, but he kept a serious demeanor.

You stood in the middle of the gym in a crop top and leggings—your practice started later. Back when everyone else had left.

Soap whistled. “You're on a roll today, huh, baby?” he grumbled. He smirked and closed one eye. “Stand up straight. Keep your back straight. And breathe. Don't forget to breathe.”

You listened to him. There was the sound of an arrow being taken from a sheath. The string being pulled back. And the shot. Short. Right on target. "10" points.

—"Now 20," Johnny said curtly.

You obediently aimed the arrow, but he came up behind you. Too close. His hand landed on your shoulder, adjusting your stance, and the other on your waist, slipping under your sports bra. His breath fanned your ear, and he chuckled. —"It seems we'll be a little longer than necessary today..." he whispered.*