Page 62 of Seas the Dating Coach

“Rookie.”

Geneva nods, glancing at Finn with a bored sigh. “I guess you need a new name too.”

“Or…” Finn gives her that winning smile. “Just a wild thought here, but you could call me by my name.”

Geneva pretends to give it some thought. “What’s the fun in that, Pretty Boy?”

When I snort, nearly clocking myself in the face trying to cover my mouth with my gloved hands, the corner of Geneva’s mouth quirks. Then she spins on her heel, barking instructions on how to warm up. I bounce on my toes a little, the nervous energy from stepping out of my comfort zone turning over into excitement.

“This is going to be fun.”

“Never have I known such torment,” I mutter to Finn while refilling my water bottle two-thirds of the way through what everyone else is calling a ‘class’ but I’m calling pure, unadulterated torture.

“It gets better with time,” he says with that flirty little smirk.

I don’t know why he’s grinning at me like a goon when I’m sure my ruddy face is probably wreathed in a halo of frizzy baby hairs. There are no mirrors here, not even in the bathroom where I spent five minutes hiding after we did fifty burpees, andI thought my heart would explode. Perhaps it’s a mercy that I can’t see my reflection. If my sweat-soaked shirt and slick legs are any indication, the rest of me is equally disheveled.

The weird thing is, for a boxing class, we’ve done very little boxing. We warmed up on the bags but then promptly took off our gloves to do my least favorite activity—running. All the way to the library, I huffed like a fish out of water, begging Finn to leave me behind. To save himself. He’d only chuckled, like myvery realdistress was something adorable. To his credit, the covert encouragement he’d murmured whenever Geneva was out of earshot genuinely helped.

Once we returned to the unairconditioned gym, Geneva subjected us to all manner of bodyweight exercises. Push-ups. Planks. Four kinds of squats. Lunges. Mountain climbers. Jumping jacks. Let’s just say I’d muttered a silent prayer that the twelve eye-hooks of my decade-old high-impact sports bra wouldn’t fail me.

“Gloves on. 1-2-3-2, 1-2-5-2, then 1-6-3-2. Run each combo five times. Let’s go!”

Our warm-up consisted of doing each numbered movement independently, but my exhausted brain cannot remember which are which. One is a hook? Or an undercut? Uppercut?

“Rookie.” I jump when Geneva’s voice resounds from directly behind me. At least she’s not yelling.

“I want you here.” She jabs before landing a crushing cross that makes Finn reset his position, holding the bag steady. “Jab-cross. 1-2. That’s it.” My mouth gapes at her effortless show of power. She’s not even wearing gloves, just wraps.

When I make no movement, Geneva lifts a dark brow. “Let’s see it.”

My gloves limply hit the bag before I realize I did the combination backward. I fumble a nearly inaudible apology andtry again. Geneva sucks in a slow breath at my effort, and my shoulders scrunch around my ears.

“Let me ask you this.” She crosses her arms, looking very much like the Valkyrie she is. “Do you have a nemesis? Someone who really gets under your skin?”

Amanda Ratchack’s perfectly sculpted cheekbones flash before my vision, and I scowl instinctively. From behind the bag, Finn’s fingers tighten on the canvas. I feel his gaze on me but don’t dare take my eyes off Geneva.

“Okay, great. Now think of their face”—Geneva taps the bag—“here.”

I turn and move my feet wider with Geneva’s gentle corrections. She lets me go another round before using two fingers to lift my elbow. “Don’t drop this again. You’re losing your power.”

This time when I hit the bag, it feels right. A surge of adrenaline swirls in my stomach, and I hit the bag again—harder. It suddenly feels like I’m avenging not only myself but all the underdogs of Wilks Beach. They’re all with me, forming an awkward army to take down the people of the world who made us feel less than we are. I lose myself for a minute, my imagination creating elaborate scenarios in which it would be completely appropriate and not at all illegal to punch Amanda Ratchack in her perfect, snarky face. When I finally look up, I’m breathing like I just finished a 25-meter sprint to shore.

Geneva quirks a half smile and walks away.

Finn chuckles, voice low. “I think that’s as close to praise that anyone in this class has ever received. Teacher’s pet.” He winks at me, but it’s playful not suave.

He’s so unguarded, wearing a backward ball cap and covered with his own sheen of sweat. All class, he’s been roguish and flirty but in a more toned-down capacity. Right now, he looks like…

He looks likemy Finn—the version of himself that comes out in tiny, incremental snippets when we’re alone, almost as if Finn forgot to be the polished version of himself tonight. I want to keep him right here, just like this, so I set my lips in a mischievous smile.

“Maybe it’s because—”

“Rookie. Exercise your body, not your mouth,” Geneva bellows from across the room.

I clamp my lips shut, and then realization spins my world on its axis. The joy encompassing me is so bright and shimmery that there’s no way I’m not radiating. Is this what Raven Sacaria feels like bathed in adoring cheers and glowing stage lights? It’s got to be close. Because Geneva just yelled at me because I wastalking too much. Me! Near-silent Vivian, the town’s sweet, quiet girl, was just admonished for chatting in class.

A slight chortle escapes me, and then I’m doubled over, heaving with laughter that almost burns my lungs as much as the agonizing run had earlier. In response to Geneva’s death stare, Finn shuffles me outside to collect myself. I wave to her as we exit, incapable of apology because I’m laughing so hard that I’m no longer making sounds. Taking her half eyeroll as forgiveness, I allow myself to surrender to the moment. Out here, tucked against the side of the former-auto-shop-turned-torture-chamber, I allow myself to make as much noise as I need to.

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