I throw another jab at Vance’s face, feeling the satisfying impact against his guard. He’s good, better than most guys at the gym, but I’m better. His eyes widen when I feint left, then I slip past his defense with a right hook that stops just short of his jaw. I could’ve ended it there, but this is practice, not a real fight. Though with the way my blood’s pumping, sometimes the line blurs. Vance grins beneath his mouthguard, backing up to reset. He knows I’m holding back.
“Come on, Brickhouse,” Vance taunts, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “My grandmother hits harder than that.”
I smirk. “Your grandmother must be fucking terrifying.”
He laughs and lunges forward with a combination that’s quick but sloppy. I block, sidestep, and counter with a body shot that makes him grunt. The familiar rhythm of sparring settles into my bones. The give and take, the dance of violence that makes more sense to me than anything else in life.
The gym buzzes around us. Knockout at midday is alive with slaps of gloves on bags, grunts of exertion, and squeaks of shoes on mats. Kairo leans against the wall, watching us, his expression unreadable as always. A few other guys from the RedCorner mill around, waiting for their turn to practice, to test themselves against me. Being undefeated means everyone wants a piece of you, even in practice.
The door to the gym swings open, and I catch movement in my peripheral vision. I don’t need to look to know it’s Renata. I recognize the click of her heels against the concrete floor. But someone’s with her, and that’s when I make my first mistake. I glance over.
Riley.
The moment of distraction costs me. Vance’s fist glances off my cheekbone, not hard, but enough to remind me where I am. I snap my focus back to Vance, but it’s too late. The damage is done. Riley is here, and now I can’t unfeel his presence.
“Eyes on me, champ,” Vance says, circling.
I grunt in response, resetting my stance. But part of my awareness stays locked on Riley as he follows Renata toward the side of the training area. It’s been a week since that night in my apartment. A week of trying not to think about his hands on me, the way my body responded like it never had before. A week of telling myself it was just physical release, nothing more.
Bullshit, all of it.
I launch a combination at Vance that’s more aggressive than necessary. He blocks most of it but takes a hit to the ribs that makes him wheeze. I back off immediately, giving him space.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “Save something for the real fights.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, glancing again at where Riley stands with Renata.
He’s wearing dark jeans and a navy sweater that hugs his shoulders. His eyes are hard to see from here, but I know what they look like up close. That intense green that seems to see right through my bullshit. The memory of those eyes watching me come undone flashes through my mind, and heat rises to my face that has nothing to do with exertion.
Vance follows my gaze. “Who’s the hot nerd with Renata?”
“My doctor,” I say, and immediately regret the possessive pronoun. “I mean, a doctor. For my shoulder.”
Vance nods, uninterested in the details. “Ready to go again?”
I refocus, forcing Riley out of my immediate thoughts. We circle each other, trading blows that gradually increase in intensity. I keep my right shoulder controlled, still conscious of it despite the improvement after Riley’s treatment. With each movement, I feel Riley’s clinical and observant gaze on me.
The round timer buzzes, saving me from my spiraling thoughts. Vance and I touch gloves, and he steps out of the training area, grabbing his water bottle.
“Good round,” he says, gulping water. “Your shoulder looks better.”
I roll it experimentally. “It’s getting there.”
Kairo pushes off from the wall and walks toward me, already unwrapping his hands. “My turn,” he says, his voice low and quiet.
Unlike Vance, Kairo isn’t one for small talk. He’s built like a predator—lean, fast, with a stillness that unnerves people. We’ve trained together for years, and I still don’t know much about him beyond his fighting style, which is brutal and efficient.
I grab my water bottle and take a long swallow, then wipe my face with a towel. Sweat stings my eyes, and my muscles have that pleasant burn of exertion. I should probably take a break, but I don’t. One more round won’t kill me.
“Let’s go,” I tell Kairo, tossing the towel aside.
As Kairo steps into the training area, I feel the energy shift. With Vance, it was practice. With Kairo, it’s always something more. He nods once, and we begin circling.
His first strike comes without warning. A jab that’s faster than it has any right to be. I block it, but barely. The next punch slips past my guard and catches me in the ribs, harder than sparring protocol would dictate.
“Easy,” I mutter. “We’ve got an audience.”
Kairo’s eyes flick to where Riley stands, then back to me. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his stance shifts. He’s picked up on something. The tension between Riley and me, maybe. Or just my distraction. Either way, he’s going to exploit it.