Knockout (Gaslight spin-off)

7| End of an era

"This will only take a second," he says with a matter of authority. "I can't in good conscience let someone throw an improper hit."

He says improper hit like I don't know what I'm doing, which only serves to annoy me. I step forward, tilting my head as I stare him down, but he only grins back. "I can hit just fine, thanks."

"Tell that to your fist," he says. "You keep hitting like that, and you're going to break something. Again."

I ignore his jab and give him a side glance. Maybe it's the skeptic in me, but I don't trust this boy for a second. "And what, you're just willing to help me out of the goodness of your heart?"

"I'm here training to be a coach," he says like it's obvious, "and me knowingly letting you continue do it wrong looks bad on me." 

"Really? I thought you were here to show off." 

He looks over and smirks. "That too." 

I let a second pass as I weigh up his proposal. Admitting I can't do something isn't exactly in my nature, and taking advice from the most hated guy in this gym is a rookie mistake, but deep down, I want to. The way he'd commanded the ring last night still plays in my head and compels me to step forward.

His eyes briefly flash like he's won some unspoken battle of dominance. I scowl as he steps forward with his hand outstretched. "Put your hands out," he orders, so I do.

He takes them gently, his hands so big they engulf mine completely. They are tanned and rough, with tiny white scars crisscrossing his knuckles like fine, white feathers. Up close like this, he's even more handsome than I thought. His skin has a light golden glow typical of somebody living in LA, and his eyes, which flit between pale blue and silver depending on the light, are endless. Too bad he's an arrogant asshole. 

"Who'd you get into a fight with?" he asks.

"You ask a lot of questions."

"I'll let you in on a secret, Cassandra." He leans closer. I'm certain he sees the way my breath hitches. "That's how people communicate."

I have something sarcastic already lined up, but it fails to come out. The truth is, I'm not used to standing this close to someone – I like to keep my distance – and it feels like he's invading my space. I take a tiny breath as I open my mouth, but the truth comes out. "Some guy at school said something I didn't like."

"And you resorted to violence," Nico says, "naturally."

I shrug. Something about this conversation – scratch that, something about him – makes me uneasy. "Sometimes violence is the only language people understand."

The corner of his mouth lifts as he finishes wrapping my hands. Watching him tape them is like watching an artist. His fingers move quickly, gently crossing the X's on my knuckles before covering the rest. I'd been confused by this part when I first joined the gym, but now I know it's necessary. Not just to keep the gloves from sliding around but to protect a boxer's greatest asset – their hands.

"Why'd you choose GymCon, anyway?" I ask, but it's hard to keep my voice even when we're standing this close. "You didn't see that fancy new place across the street?"

"I saw it," he says casually, "it just didn't catch my eye." 

I look up briefly to see he's already watching me. His eyes are bright, but behind that arrogant glint is something decidedly reckless. "What," I say, "shiny new buildings and fingerprint IDs don't excite you?"

"I'm a little harder to impress." He drops my hand and steps back a little before mimicking a punch. "You want to use this part of your hand," he says, tapping his knuckle. "Twist in a corkscrew before impact." He stops and tilts his head before adding, "I'm surprised you don't already know this."