Page 144 of Tangled Like Us
In the ring, Xander is bouncing on his feet like Farrow, Banks, and I taught him a few days ago. His shoulders are hunched from bad posture—from trying to hide most of his life. Shrinking in on himself.
Being six-foot-two hasn’t helped his case. But despite that, he still has this photogenic, youthful face that conveys teen angst. Preteen girls are already waiting for him to exit Studio 9. Just to say they were close enough to breathe the same air as Xander Hale.
I wish Banks were here today, but he’s filling in on Audrey Cobalt’s detail.
“Keep your left hand up!” I call out to Xander.
He raises his red glove for half a second, and then his arm droops again.
My expression hardens. Out of all the bad habits…this is one that makes me want to pull him out of the ring. Boxing is a contact sport.
If he doesn’t guard his face, he will be hit in the fucking face.
Maximoff stands rigid. On alert. He’s having trouble watching. I can tell more by Farrow constantly looking over at him and because Jane told me after the first training session.
I’m not the only one used to protecting Xander from heavy blows. His older brother acts like another bodyguard on-duty to his siblings.
Xander eyes his teenaged practice opponent, who’s a member of Akara’s gym. Garrett already signed an NDA with no problem.
Everyone else at Studio 9 right now is either a bodyguard or part of the famous families. Akara has started shutting down his gym early on Tuesdays.Half-days, he calls them. It allows the team to use the space for meetings and for some men to squeeze in gym time.
Farrow chews his gum more slowly. “Protect your face, Xander!”
He shields his cheek with his right glove and jabs at Garrett with his left. Catching the boy’s jaw.
“Nice job, kid.” I keep my arms crossed and narrow in on their movements.
Xander pants and barely slips out of a left hook.
“Hang in there,” Farrow calls out.
The bathroom door opens nearby. Splitting my focus. Jane rubs her hands on her leopard-print leggings. She catches me staring. “Out of paper towels,” she explains and kicks off her ballet flats, putting them in a wooden locker.
Not why I was staring, honey.
She smiles a little, cheeks flushed while I steal glances in her direction. She walks across the mats to me and tries to watch Xander too.
“How’s he doing?” Jane whispers.
“Good. He just needs to keep his hands up.” I glance back down at her, my muscles contracting.
Her fingers touch her freckled cheek. Jane radiates heat like she’s remembering last night.
Our world-class sex.
I’ve remembered it too. More than a dozen times. I was deep inside her for three earth-shattering hours to the point where she was gone in my arms. Shuddering, eyes in the back of her head. Guttural groans throttled my chest, and I couldn’t let any escape.
We have to fuck in near-silence to keep this massive secret, and the only bad part was that I had to leave.
Zero three hundred hours on the dot.
I respect her wishes, and I wouldn’t stay a minute longer. But walking out that door is like walking on a bed of fucking nails.
“He’ll learn,” she says optimistically. “He has good coaches.”
I’m just okay. The Oliveira brothers are better boxers, but they’re both on-duty. I’m about to mention that, but Xander suddenly ducks beneath an incoming right hook.
“Go Xander!” Jane cheers. She made pompoms the last session, but Xander was embarrassed, so she hid them in a locker.
