Page 13 of Fight or Flight
I hoped getting a workout in would help, but after an hour of beating the hell out of the many boxing bags around, I’m still not feeling any better, or any less restless.
“What’s up, fuck face?”
My bad mood intensifies at the familiar voice, and I lift my eyes from the athletic wrap I’m in the process of unraveling from around my hand to the wall of mirrors in front of me.
The last person I want to see tonight, or ever if I’m being honest, is casually leaning against one of the multi-station machines like he doesn’t have a care in the world. And knowing him, he probably doesn’t.
On the surface, Jace Hawthorne is exactly what you’d expect to find at Silvercrest. He’s rich as sin, comes from one of the most powerful and influential families at the school, and has all the confidence of a guy who knows the world is his oyster and that rules don’t apply to him.
He’s also a giant asshole who’s been the bane of my existence since freshman year.
“What do you want?” I ask, glaring at his reflection in the mirror.
I purposely waited until it was late to come down here because I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone.
“Do I have to have a reason to say hi to a fellow brother?” he asks, his expression filled with wide-eyed innocence and a little bit of hurt.
I snort-laugh and toss the wrap over my shoulder so I can undo the other one. “Yeah, I’m not buying that innocent shit. What do you want?”
One thing I’ve learned about both Jace and his identical twin brother Jax is that the twins are masters at expressing emotions.
And I don’t mean it in the sense that they’re in touch with their emotions and aren’t afraid to show them or anything as enlightened as that.
It’s more that they’re masters atemoting, and this seems to be especially true with Jace. He can look happy or sad or sorry or hurt or whatever emotion the situation calls for on command, and he can flip between expressions on a dime, like he’s choosing a program to run and not because he’s actually feeling what he’s showing.
Of course, that could just be part of his whole “be as annoying as humanly possible” thing he’s got going on and not some sort of emotional defect, but it’s weird that no one else seems to see it.
“What makes you think I want something?” he asks.
“Because why else would you be standing there and bothering me when you have the whole gym at your disposal?”
“Not the whole gym since you’re here,” he says pointedly.
“So then don’t be here.”
“But this is where I want to be.”
“Why?” I toss the second wrap over my shoulder.
“Because I want to work out,” he says like he’s talking to a five-year-old.
“So go work out.” I wave to the empty gym. “It’s not like I’m stopping you.”
“No, but you’re in my spot.”
“Your what?” I turn around to face him before I can stop myself.
“My spot.” He nods to where I’m standing. “That’s where I like to warm up, and you’re in it. I’m just waiting for you to stop dillydallying and move your ass out of the way.”
“Seriously?” I level a glare at him. “You expect me to believe that you can’t possibly warm up in any other part of the gym?”
“I could.” He shoots me a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “But it’s more fun to piss you off than it is to find another spot, so…” He rolls his shoulders in a shrug.
“Why are you here?” I ask again. “You don’t even use the gym.”
“I don’t?”
“No. I’ve never seen you in here.”
