It isn't until Coach steps out of the shadows that I realize the boxer isn't alone. "Godammit, I told you to keep your hands up!" Coach barks. "Why'd you come to me if you're not going to listen to me?"

"Oh, I'm listening," the guy says as he takes a step back, "I just don't agree with what I'm hearing." He rips his gloves off and grabs his water bottle, untwisting the lid. It's one of those fancy bottles with markings on the side to remind you to drink, and he takes a long sip before holding it up to study them.

Now that he's out of the shadows, it's hard not to miss his sheer size. His body is pure muscle, coated in a sheen that starts at his neck and extends to his hard, tanned abs. Tattoos cover both arms, intricate patterns that wind around his biceps and travel down his forearms, laced between his visible tendons. If my best friend, Daisy, were here, she'd be flat on the floor having a coronary. 

Dissatisfied with his intake, he takes another sip, looking over to where I'm lurking behind one of the heavy bags. His gaze looks me over, from my dark brown hair pulled high into a pony to my faded, scuffed sneakers. "Enjoying the show?"

Heat lashes my cheeks as I bravely fold my arms. I'd already figured based on his demeanor, but clearly, this guy is an asshole. "Not really – maybe do a little cartwheel."

His eyebrow arches. Either he hadn't expected to get an answer, or he's not used to being unimpressive. "Who's this, Coach?"

My fingers twitch. He says Coach as if the pair are friends and not just newly acquainted. "My thoughts exactly."

Coach, who already looks fed up with this boy's bullshit, rubs the bridge of his nose. "Cassie, this is the kid I was telling you about."

The guy steps forward and turns to face me directly, his pale eyes reflecting under the bright yellow gleam of the overhead lights. His face is much clearer now than before, his hard, gray eyes the same color as the sky on an early winter morning. "Nico."

"That's not a name," I say, "it's a plant growth stimulant."

His eyes flash to mine with a thread of intrigue. Coach smirks as he pats my head in the way that I hate and says, "You remember that thing we talked about?"

"About being nice?"

"Yeah, that." He turns to Nico, sighs, and says, "If you're serious about learning from me, come back tomorrow." He starts to walk off but then stops to look over his shoulder. "And you keep away from the girls here, you hear me?"

The corner of Nico's mouth twitches. He raises his hands in mock surrender and gives Coach an innocent look. "Just here to learn, Coach."

The look on Coach's face suggests he doesn't believe this, but he doesn't press further. He shakes his head and disappears through the bags, joining the others near the ring.

"He's serious," I say, glancing at Nico. "Said he's tired of this place being treated like a hookup app. If he gets even a whiff of a romance, your dreams of becoming a coach here are over." I say it because a few girls here might fall for his act, but I know a troublemaker when I see one.

"I believe it." He twists the lid back onto his bottle and sets it aside. "Cassie short for Cassandra?"

"Your deduction skills are top-notch." I half-turn, about to finish up the rest of my cleaning, but his low, even voice keeps me still.

"People ever call you Cassandra?"

"Only if they want a punch to the throat."

His mouth curls. "Violent thing, aren't you?"

The tendons in my fingers twitch. I count to three, the way my guidance counselor, Roy, suggested whenever I start to feel irritated. I'm trying to work on the whole losing my temper thing, but obviously, it's not going well. My gaze flits down to his shiny black gloves before looking back up. "Little hypocritical, don't you think?"

There's a second where he goes to speak before stopping again. His mouth slowly spreads into a lopsided grin, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. He leans in, but the crowd trickling in through the entrance distracts him.

At the front of the crowd, hood pulled low to shield half his face, is the elusive Hayden Walker. According to Coach, Hayden became the owner of this gym after inheriting it from his dad, but Coach says he's so busy these days visiting his girlfriend at college that it's Coach who keeps this place going.

Still, it's a boost of morale whenever he stops by. The kids in this place like to treat him as a celebrity, and I can see why. Despite being busy, he's probably one of the only people who gives these kids the time of day. Even when he's seen me around, he's stopped to say hey and ask how I'm doing, and so does his girlfriend, Maddie.

The pair make a beeline for Coach. I'd heard through Auden that she trained with Hayden before heading off to college, and that's how the pair fell in love. Maybe it's down to my lack of experience in the romance department, or maybe it's the coldhearted cynic in me, but falling in love in a place where one continually bleeds and sweats does not sound like a good idea.

The trio exchanges hugs and words before Hayden and Maddie disappear into the office. They come out a little while later, Hayden without his t-shirt and wearing his trademark cherry-red gloves. While Hayden warms up, Maddie positions herself near the ring. Coach stands beside her, arms tightly folded, while another boy gets ready to enter the ring.

"Interesting," Nico says. When I follow his gaze, his eyes have lasered on Hayden. "I heard he wasn't around much these days."

"He's not," I say. "I mean, he spends a lot of time over at UCLA. That's where his girlfriend goes."

Nico's gaze glints with a hint of a challenge. He walks straight past me as if I've been forgotten before pausing to look over his shoulder. "Stick around, Cassandra. You might enjoy this one."

My arms drop to my sides at the same time my fists clench. Nico casually heads toward the ring and slips through the ropes as a crowd begins to form. Wiley, the opponent Hayden was supposed to spar with, frowns at Nico and says something I can't hear, but Nico doesn't look fazed. The trio exchanges words, and I can see from Hayden's face that he's clearly not amused, but he's not one to turn down a challenge. A wave of embarrassment runs through me. It's hard to tell whether Nico's confidence is real or feigned, but things are about to get ugly.

Hayden takes his place in the ring, and Coach starts the countdown. The pair are similar in age and height, but that's about where the similarities end. Hayden is stoic and robotically composed, his red gloves gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights as he holds them to his face.

Nico, it seems, is the opposite. He winks at Hayden and raises his hands, but not by much. His black gloves sit lower on the ridge of his jaw to show off more of his face. Not only is he arrogant outside of the ring, but inside of it too. And if I've learned anything about boxing these last few months, cocky is the last thing you want to be in the ring.

He's going to learn this the hard way.

A/N

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