Right Hook (Gaslight series) COMPLETE

13| Opposites attract

Alyssa ♔

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Maddie's proposition means Max and I are the only two in the gym this evening. I am sitting at a weights machine, swinging my arms back and forth while he trains on one of the punching bags. 

I try not to look at him, but it's hard when we're training so close. He's so focused, controlled, and his eyes stay on the bag as he pounds it with his fists. If that were me, I'd be struggling to breathe, but he's barely even working a sweat. 

To him, it's like we're in two different worlds. Not once does he acknowledge my presence–it's like I cease to exist. Despite the fact I should be thankful, it irks me a little. I'm used to being the center of attention, to guys falling over their feet to talk to me; I'm not used to being ignored.  

I'm reminded of when I'd refused to acknowledge him, and my stomach sinks. Pretending not to know him was a necessary evil. If Justin had somehow caught on to the fact that Max and I knew each other, he'd have done more than left a few fingerprints on me. 

I watch the way his hands pound the bag. His arms are thick and sculpted with muscles, like he spends most of his life in here training. He probably does, nobody fights the way he fights without putting in the hours. 

He looks good doing it, but that's not the only reason I can't stop staring. It's the way he's so lost in the movements, the way his body seems to explode with each punch like he's pouring everything into his hits. Maddie was right, it does look therapeutic.

He suddenly stops punching and looks over his shoulder. "I get it, I'm pretty, but are you going to stare at me all night?"

My cheeks burn with heat. I thought I'd been discreet by looking at him between reps, but evidently not. "Sorry." My voice comes out meek, so I quickly square my shoulders. "I wasn't looking at you. I just–that looks nice." 

He furrows his eyebrows. "What does?"

I nod at the bag. "That. Punching that bag. Maddie said it was therapeutic, and I guess I kind of know what she means now." 

He watches me for a second in a way that makes me feel nervous. His eyebrows furrow, and it causes this little crease between his eyes that makes him look dark and brooding. Finally, the crease eases and he lets out a sigh. "If I show you how to use it, will you stop?"

I raise my eyebrows at his proposition. "Yes." 

He beckons me over with the nod of his head, so I get to my feet. He stands back from the punching bag and waits for me to reach him before finally turning to face me. 

"You'll need gloves," he says. He pulls off his own and places them down before pulling some new ones from the equipment box. When he straightens up, he stands in front of me and tells me to hold out my hands. "Always tape them first," he says, meeting my gaze. "It stops your hands from sliding around in the gloves."

He pauses for a second or two and watches me carefully. It is almost as though he's reluctant to touch me. Then, gently, he takes my hand in his, engulfing it with his palm. It is warm and solid, the kind of touch that sends jolts through my skin and down to the pit of my stomach. I jerk back a little, watching the way he wraps the tape around my knuckles. It's been a while since I last felt that feeling.

"I'm sorry," I say, because the guilt I feel about last night has been eating me up. "For being so rude to you last night." I wait for him to look at me, to acknowledge that I've spoken, but he keeps his gaze on my hands. "It wasn't personal," I continue. "I just haven't told anyone about going to the gym, and they'd want to know how I knew you and–"