Page 56 of Movers and Fakers

He looks around the gym.

“We ended up here, didn’t we?”

“What if we wouldn’t have?” I ask, and take the gloves from him. He pulls out a pair of much larger black ones.

“Then I guess I would have had an extra pair of gloves,” he replies with a shrug.

I follow him, dazed, to the ring. This brings about so many questions, so many implications. We leave our shoes at the edge of the ring, then Hayes holds the rope up so I can duck under it.

Once we’re both inside, I blurt out, “You really wanted to date me, this whole time?”

Hayes’s head rears back a little, like I’ve shocked him. Then, he laughs.

“You’re messing with me, right?” he asks through his laughter. “You’re not serious.”

I look down at my new gloves.

“I’ve been flirting with you for months, Aurora,” Hayes says, his tone incredulous. “What did you think I wanted?”

“I thought you were bored!” I exclaim, throwing my arms out. “And even if I thought you actually wanted to date me, I didn’t think you’d plan ahead enough to buy gloves. Do you do this for every girl you flirt with?”

The question comes out before I can rein myself in. I shouldn’t have asked that. It makes me look jealous, like I care who he was with before me.

You’re not actually dating, my brain so lovingly reminds me. I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth and look at Hayes. There’s a little smile on his lips, the gentle one he gave me Sunday night. The one I might secretly hope he’s never given to anyone else.

Hayes sets his gloves down on the floor next to him, then pierces me with his bright green eyes.

“While you’re highly entertaining, I didn’t flirt with you because I was bored. I flirted with you because I thought you were gorgeous, smart, and funny.” He takes a step toward me. “I’ve never bought a girl gloves before.” Another step. “Never brought anyone here, to Haymakers.” He closes the distance between us. “You’re the first, the only,” he whispers.

I tip my head back to hold his gaze even though it terrifies me. My heart is pounding in my chest. I feel like I do when I’m waiting in the wings to step on stage. My stomach is in knots, but there’s a soft buzz beneath my skin. A hum that makes the hairs on my arms stand up and my breath turn shallow.

His words shouldn’t make me feel this way, like I just won an award or got the lead role in a show. But there’s something about being the first and only that I can’t help but latch onto. Hayes can go anywhere he wants, buy anything his heart desires, and be with pretty much any woman he sets his eyes on. But he’s here with me. There’s no one to put on a show for. No reason for him to buy me gloves and do my silly little quiz. None besides the fact that he wants to.

A woman could let that go to her head. I just might.

“Can you help me?” I murmur, lifting up the gloves. Addressing what he just said is not an option, not unless I plan on breaking rule number two.

The right corner of his mouth—which I’m definitely not staring at—hitches up. He reaches out and tugs on the hem of my puffer jacket.

“You might want to take this off first. It’s difficult to do anything but swing once you’ve got gloves on.”

“Oh.” I blush and hand him the gloves. I’d been too caught up in him to think of how I was dressed.

I get cold easily, but I also tend to dress in layers on days when I have class or rehearsals, stripping them off as I warm up throughout the class. Hayes takes a step back to give me room, and I shed the jacket, then hook my thumbs into the rolled-up band of my sweatpants and pull them off too, hanging them on the ropes behind me. I’m wearing a black leotard and pink tights underneath, along with a black chiffon skirt tied around my waist that I make sure is secure. Once I’m done, I look up to find Hayes staring at me.

“What?” I ask, looking down at my attire. “Is this not okay? I didn’t know we’d be coming, or else I would have brought a change of clothes.”

He’s wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, so my outfit should be fine. Surely if I can dance in it, I can spar.

Hayes clears his throat. The tips of his ears turn pink, sparking curiosity within me.

“No, it’s fine. Here, I can help you get these on now.”

I hold a hand out and he guides each one on, then secures the Velcro at my wrist. My arms feel heavier, reminding me of when instructors have had me wear wrist weights in class to build up endurance and strength.

Hayes crosses the ring and picks up his gloves, putting them on with ease and familiarity. He stretches an arm across his broad chest, muscles rippling. It occurs to me that he probably thinks I know more than I do about the sport after meeting my family and my offhanded comment about not needing training.

“I’ve never really boxed before,” I tell him. “My dad showed me some self-defense moves, and I grew up watching a lot of fights, but I haven’t ever been in a ring or anything like that.”