Page 26 of 4th Degree

He doesn't say anything else, but I can sense him watching me the entire walk down the street. And I think I like his eyes on me way too much.

10

SKYLAR

“You good to close up, Skylar? I’d like to duck out a little early if possible.”

I look up from where I’m sweeping the coffee shop floor. “Yeah, of course. Get out of here. I’ll take care of it.”

My coworker mouths a relieved “thank you” in my direction, already reaching for her purse and coat. “You’re a lifesaver, Skylar. See you next week!”

Shaking my head with a smile, I go back to sweeping under the tables. I still have twenty minutes before I have to leave for class, and this is the last thing I have to do for my shift-end tasks.

My thoughts return to the same place they always seem to wander to nowadays: the gym. Starting with the new submission I learned last night, mentally working through the ten steps necessary to lock it up, before drifting to the takedown that we set it up with.

Which means it doesn’t take long for my thoughts to turn to Coach Dominic.

My skin warms at the memory of us working on my double leg takedown. He’s spent some time working with me since that night, but it’s always on the heavy bag, working on punches and elbows after a grueling Muay Thai class. Part of me wonders if he’s keeping it to striking for a reason. If he regretted watching those fights with me and is trying to keep some distance, physical or otherwise.

My company didn’t feel unwanted that night I sat down to watch the fights with him because it was obvious he was baiting me to do it. I might not have a lot of experience with the opposite sex, but I can still read their social cues. Dominic wanted me to sit with him. So then why has he been putting space between us over the past two weeks?

I think back to our conversation, frowning when I can’t remember us talking about anything unprofessional or inappropriate. We talked about fighting. At no point did anything feel like we crossed an invisible line in the conversation. The only thing potentially odd about our interaction was the fact that I was alone in the gym with my coach at ten o’clock at night.

But…he initiated that. And it’s his gym.

I let out a heavy sigh. Maybe I really am overthinking this. It’s entirely possible that the reason for us doing Muay Thai and keeping our physical contact to a minimum is because my striking is what needs the help, not my ground game.

I sweep my worries under the rug, knowing there’s nothing I can do differently so choosing not to stress. Finishing my shift at the coffee shop, I head to campus for my afternoon classes.

I’m mulling over the homework we were given when Craig enters my view and leans his hip against my desk.

“I almost didn’t recognize you sitting back here.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “No more teacher’s pet sitting in the front row?”

I barely hold back an eye roll. “I got here late, and I didn’t want to interrupt Professor Calloway’s lecture,” I explain—not that I should need to. Are we in middle school that we’re still mocking people for being good students? Or is this his attempt at flirting?

I stand and head toward the door, hoping Craig gets the hint that I don’t feel like talking today.

He doesn’t.

“Why were you late?” he presses, taking up stride beside me.

I let out a heavy sigh. “Work.”

He whistles, the sound obnoxiously loud even in the busy college hallway. “You work way too much, Sky. You need to relax. Take a break.”

My exasperation gives way to annoyance. “That’s not really a luxury I have.”

He waves off my answer—as if working more is a decision, not a necessity.

And this. This is why I don’t get along with people my own age. His answer is completely normal: nineteen-year-olds should be finding time to relax and have fun. Freshman and sophomore years of college don’t need to be spent buried under schoolwork and multiple jobs. They should be spent making new friends and learning how to be independent. Craig’s answer isn’t wrong. I shouldn’t judge him.

And yet, it’s so far from my reality that I hate him for it.

“You should make time,” he continues, completely oblivious to the irritation simmering in my veins. “You can’t pour from an empty cup, you know.”

Yes, you can. When your family’s lives literally depend on it, you’d be surprised where you can pour from.

He must finally sense that this is a less-than-pleasant conversation for me, because he pulls me to a stop in the hallway, his expression softening.

---