When I get to the gym, I'm twenty minutes early. I tiptoe up a set of steep steps and pull on the door. Inside, there are already a couple of men using the punching bags or doing stretches on the mats.
I hover in the doorway, and a guy getting up from the mat catches my eye and walks over. He's got to be around nineteen at least, and he's tall–around six foot–with cropped black hair, dark skin, and a brilliant white smile.
"Hey," he says with a cheeky grin. "You here to visit your boyfriend or something?"
Yes, I definitely should have waited outside. "I'm here to train. Are you here to visit your boyfriend?"
The guy smiles again before taking a seat. "Funny. I actually help Hayden run this place. His most trusted confidante. So if you're not here visiting a boyfriend, does that make you single?" He flashes another grin that reveals both sets of dimples.
I am saved from answering when Hayden walks up to us. He looks between us with what I can only describe as a look of irritation. "A little young for you, Wiley," he says, his voice sounding dangerous, and something in my stomach tightens.
Wiley looks between the two of us before putting his hands up in surrender. "Far be it from me to get in your way," he says, heading back to one of the training stations.
Hayden turns to me, clearly irritated. "I said to come at eight."
"Hey," I say, a little touchily. "At least I'm not late."
Hayden makes me wait in his office until everyone else has left. I leave my stuff tucked away in the corner, putting my hair up before meeting him over by the mat.
"Upfront," he says, putting out his hand.
At first, I'm confused as to what he is talking about, but then I realize he's after the money. I roll my eyes before handing it over.
"You sure you want to do this?" he asks. "I'm not taking responsibility if you end up hurting yourself."
I narrow my eyes. "Has anyone ever told you that you're really rude?"
"All the time. Are you going to answer the question?"
I remind myself that murdering Hayden is not an option; not when I need him. "I'm sure."
He shrugs a little, his gaze intense. "Alright, your funeral. This first session is just to ease you into it. We're going to start with some stretches and learn about the equipment."
I'm not impressed. "Can we just skip straight to the part where you teach me how to fight?"
The way Hayden's face hardens tells me he's not the slightest bit amused.
"Okay," I say wearily, taking a seat on the mat. "Teach me, oh wise one."
For a second, I can physically see Hayden contemplating whether or not this is worth his while. Then he raises an eyebrow and says, "Do you have any previous experience?"
"Not unless you count beating up my step-cousins," I joke, but my smile quickly drops when he doesn't smile back. "No, I don't."
Hayden spends the next thirty minutes showing me a variety of different stretches and talks about the different levels of boxing before handing me a jump rope. Despite finding it strange, I follow his orders without question and jump rope, not wanting to piss him off.
It feels different from running: I feel the pain in my muscles return, my heart rate increase with every jump of the rope, and I begin to feel the anguish I hold in slowly start to release. After what feels like an eternity, I stop jumping to glare at Hayden. "I've been jumping rope for like an hour. How is this teaching me how to fight?"
"It's not," he says shortly. "It's helping you to get in shape."
My cheeks burn red. "I'm already in shape."
His eyes travel over my chest and stomach, lingering on my hips. They shift to my thighs, making their way down my calves before settling on my feet. He doesn't even attempt to be subtle about the way he's assessing me. I am silent until he's finished.
"A nice body doesn't mean you're in shape." His eyes flicker to mine again; I have failed to meet his approval. "You need stamina. Endurance."
I feel myself blush again. "Listen," I say, holding the rope loosely between my fingers, "I've been running three miles every single day for the past three years, okay? I know all about stamina and endurance."
"Rule number one," Hayden says. "Don't question me. And you should be running at least six."
"Six?" I let out a groan before resuming my jumps. This is going to be a long session.
***
After the training session, I spread myself out on the mat like a starfish, waiting for my heart rate to settle. Hayden sits next to me, watching me with the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Your body's gotten too comfortable with one form of exercise," he says. "It's why you find running easy but not this."
I let out a slow, ragged breath. "I feel like I'm dying."
He takes a long, slow swig of his water before placing it between us. "If you're going to quit, do it now."
I shake my head, still trying to catch my breath. "I'm not a quitter."
"You know, a lot of people say that." He gets to his feet before offering out his hand. I clasp my fingers around his own, allowing him to pull me up. "Very few people mean it."
I think about this for the briefest of moments. "Well," I say, "I do."
Something different flashes in his eyes. Not amusement exactly, but a sliver of curiosity that wasn't there before. "Come on," he says. "Let's focus on some breathing techniques before you give yourself a heart attack."
He starts showing me a series of breathing techniques to slow my heart rate and after a little while, I try to copy him. Clearly, I'm not doing a very good job, because Hayden is once again unimpressed by my performance.
"Breathe from here," he says, pointing to his lower abdomen.
"I am." In, out. In, out. I think I am finally getting it, but then Hayden growls in frustration and slips behind me so my back is to his chest. He rests his palm on the flat of my stomach, his skin directly on mine. I suck in a breath, surprised at the little jolt of warmth that suddenly travels through my stomach.
"Now you've stopped breathing completely," Hayden says. "You're not so good with instructions, are you, Maddison?"
I flinch at hearing him call me Maddison. "Don't call me that."
I don't have to look at him to know he is smirking. "Okay, Maddie."
I clear my throat and try to slow down my breathing, making sure to inhale as deeply as I can before letting it out. I've never been so close to another boy besides Jamie. It's hard for me to concentrate on anything else.
As though able to read my mind, Hayden drops his hand away, clearly satisfied with my new technique. I swallow hard and tighten my ponytail, trying to shake away the feeling in my stomach.
"So," I say, turning to face him. "My very first lesson. How did I do?"
Hayden smirks. "Not bad, for a priss."
My mouth falls open. "I'm not a priss."
He starts to pack the equipment away without bothering to look at me. "Could have fooled me."
His words shouldn't bother me, but for some reason, they do. "Thanks for the lesson," I say tightly. "See you next week." Then I grab my stuff from his office and run down the steps without waiting for his reply.
When I make it back home, the house is quiet. Everyone's retreated to their rooms, so I grab a glass of milk and do the same. Along the way, I pass Dylan's bedroom–third door on the left–and see moonlight spilling in through the open doors leading to his balcony. He's sat on his bed, quietly strumming away on his guitar.
For a second, I just stand and watch him. Posters of old rock bands cover the walls, and his Apple Mac is proudly displayed on a sleek, oak desk that matches the rest of the furniture. Being a seventeen-year-old boy, I'd expected to find the floor littered with clothes or his desk covered with food, but his room is spotless and meticulously organized, not a single thing out of place.
"Still a neat freak, I see."
He turns slightly, hand strumming mid-air. "Don't you knock?"
"Sorry. I was just on my way to bed."
He raises an eyebrow. "Where have you been?"
"The gym. Figured I'd try and get back into a routine as quickly as possible."
"What gym?" he asks.
I pull on my sweater. "What is this, twenty questions? Go to sleep, Dylan. It's past your bedtime."
He rolls his eyes and continues strumming, so I close his door and leave him in peace.