Page 42 of Let's Kiss and Tell

“Is this the Clark Kent effect?” he asks. “Do I look that much better without glasses?”

“No, I love the glasses!”

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I do!” I insist. “I’ve just never seen you without them.”

“Well, believe it or not”—Marsh’s eyes flash—“sometimes I can pull off looking like a normal human.”

There’s a different energy about him this morning; it’s like he’s not that guy fromThe JournalI’ve been spending time with. He’s not Marshall Oakley—he just feels like Marsh.

“Ready to get your ass kicked?” I say and then guide him toward the entrance of my boxing studio that sits in the middle of a hidden alleyway.

“I sure am.” He follows.

The boxing studio looks like an old garage but with sleek crimson floors, about fifteen bags all around, and a raised ring off to the left. It’s my happy place. I’m not religious, but I imagine the time I spend here punching a bag is how it feels going to church. There’s a sense of calmness and connecting with oneself, or perhaps something higher, that happens within these walls.

The first class of the day doesn’t start until ninea.m.,so I make sure that I find a window where Marsh and I can just do our own thing and get to know each other.

“Ay, Lucy!” Eddie calls out from behind the desk. He’s currently wearing a black matching sweat set with the hood down to reveal his bald head.

“Hey!” I raise a hand as he walks toward us. “Eddie, this is my friend Marsh. Marsh, this is Eddie. He owns the studio.”

“Nice to meet you,” Marsh says, and they give each other a fist bump. “This is a great gym.”

“Thanks, man.” Eddie looks around at his pride and joy. “Yeah, my brother and I have owned it for about five years. It’s in a good area.”

“That’s awesome.” Marsh eyes the space.

“So, have you ever boxed before?”

“I’ve done a few classes, I loved it. I’m probably not as good as Lucy, though.” Marsh looks at me. I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something refreshing about a man who doesn’t feel like he needs to be good at everything. Especially with something physically challenging.

“I’m happy to do a few drills with you to start to get back into the groove of things?” Eddie offers.

“Yeah, I’d love that. Thanks,” Marsh says. “Do you have wraps I’d be able to purchase?”

“Oh yeah. One sec.” Eddie goes to the front desk and then pulls out a new set of black wraps. “Just let me know when you’re ready.” Eddie taps a bag.

“We can put our stuff over here,” I say, and we set our things down in a spot by the ring. “Do you know how to wrap your hands?”

“You know, I could lie and say yes,” Marsh says, “but I think having a broken wrist after today might be a dead giveaway.”

“Let me help you.” I laugh and then take his wraps. He pulls up his sleeves, revealing his forearms, and then sets his hand out in front of me. “It took memonthsto learn how to do this,” I say as I start unraveling the fabric and weaving it in between his fingers and over his wrist.

Marsh’s hands are big. Strong. For a moment I wonder if theycould cover my entire waist. When the tip of my finger grazes over his palm, the most innocent contact that could ever happen, my heart beats a little faster. I don’t dare glance up, because I can feel his gaze on me. Not on my hands and what I’m doing, but onme.He’s studying my face, my breath, as if I don’t notice. I seal the wrap on his right hand and begin the process on his left.

“How long have you been boxing here?” Marsh asks.

“A little over a year?” I say. “I try to be consistent and come like three times a week.” I continue weaving the fabric through Marsh’s fingers. “You’re in good hands with Eddie, though. He’s the best.”

When we finish up, Marsh makes his way over to Eddie on the other side of the studio. I take a seat on one of the benches and I watch the two of them as I do my own wraps.

I’m instantly impressed with Marsh’s boxing stance. Although he’s tall, he’s not using his limbs like a baby deer. He’s in control of his body. I notice muscles on his calves twitch as he bounces on his feet. There’s precision with the placement of his gloves over his face, and he uses his body to throw a punch.

As Eddie continues to call out combos for Marsh, I decide to find my own bag and get my drills in. After a few rounds of practice combos, squats, and burpees on my end, they both make their way toward me.

“How goes it?” I take a sip from my water bottle.