Page 36 of Punchline
It had been a long time since I’d been to a smoker. I dressed casually in a pair of black jeans and a TUFFPRO T-shirt that one of my old sponsors had given me, then slicked back my hair. It made me appear a little older, which I wanted if I was going into someone’s boxing gym. I wasn’t a boxer, but I could hold my own on my feet, and the last thing I wanted was someone starting shit with me because they thought it would be fun. Especially since I was going to be with Ethan.
Speaking of… a familiar knock sounded at my door. “C’mon in,” I called as I took a last look at myself, then tucked my phone into my back pocket. Wallet, keys, pocket knife… was I missing anything?
Long, strong arms wrapped around me from the side, and I grinned as I looked at Ethan in the mirror doing his best impersonation of an octopus. He was in an Aces shirt and cargo shorts, and if I didn’t know he was a professional hockey player, my money would be on skater. “I was going to be right out,” I told him.
“I got lonely.”
“You were alone for five seconds.”
“That’s too long,” he said, eyeing me up anddown. One of his hands kneaded my bicep. “Holy shit, I love this tiny shirt.”
“It’s not tiny.”
“It isn’t,” he agreed, slipping his other hand beneath it. “But itlookstiny on you. Definitely too tight.”
“The fabric is meant to be stretchy,” I defended myself.
“Jake.” Ethan glanced up at me. “Do I look like someone you need to defend your fancy underarmor to? You look… so hot. Like, maybe too hot to actually go out.”
“I already promised Camila we’d be there,” I said.
“Is Camila scary or something?”
I laughed. He wouldn’t get it until he met her.
“Let’s head out.” I slid my hand down to the small of his back as we started for the front door. It wasn’t a sexual touch; or at least, I didn’t mean it to be. But I’d given a lot of thought to what Ethan had said, and as little as I wanted to admit it, he’d made some good points.
We didn’t actually know each other that well yet. To him, my dive into getting physical with him did probably seem rushed. He didn’t want to get burned by a guy who he thought might be experimenting, and I respected that. But anyone who knew me well knew I was the sort of person who made plans on top of plans. What had happened during my bad match with Carson at Abu Dhabi was a fluke that had thrown most of my other plans off, but those moments were thankfully rare. When I committed to something, I did it because I didn’t just feel it was right, Iknewit was right for me. In this case, the thing—person—I was committing to was Ethan. I wanted to see where things went with him, and I had a feeling it was going to be somewhere good.
I just had to be patient and let him set the pace. I could be patient.
“Just so you know,” Ethan warned me as we got into my car, “I don’t know anything about boxing.”
“I don’t know all that much either,” I said. “It’s a highly technical sport, but it’s still fun to watch.”
He grinned. “Brawls are always fun to watch.”
“I doubt we’ll see a brawl tonight.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “It’s two people punching each other for… how long are these fights going?”
“They’re going to be fast—three two-minute rounds, I think.” They had a big roster to get through and it was already almost eight.
“Still, six minutes of punching someone sounds like a brawl.”
“It’s amatch,” I said. “And for good boxers, that’s not even enough time to break a sweat. This is being hosted at a Russian-style gym, so expect to see some very technical work.”
Ethan shrugged. “I honestly don’t think I’ll know a technical punch versus a non-technical punch, but it’ll be fun anyway.”
The gym was about twenty minutes away in a little strip mall that also housed a taqueria, a nail salon, and a pawn shop. The taqueria was doing a brisk business, and there was loud synth-pop style music blaring from a couple different speakers.
“I thought they’d want to keep a low profile!” Ethan shouted over the noise as I found a place to park between two tricked-out Camaros a block and a half away.
“The music is a good cover for the yelling,” I shouted back, but I was a little surprised by how big this thing was too. If they weren’t careful, a noise complaint was going to bring this whole thing down.
We headed for the entrance to the gym, right in the middle of the strip and packed with people. I felt a stir of relief when I saw Camila standing there with a drink in one hand, her tuckered-out four-year old on her hip, and a frown on her face.
“Good,” she said as soon as she saw me. “Here, take José.” She unceremoniously handed over her son, who opened his eyes to protest but brightened when he saw me. “They’ve kept us waiting for over anhourto get started. I’m going to go talk to Pete about hurrying this shit up.”
