Chapter 1 The Job #5
Instead, I get a curt finger-snap and a “Hand me that last pair of gloves, will ya?”
I do as I’m told, shoving the sports-movie fantasy to the back of my mind.
Real life isn’t like the movies.
The guy who tries the hardest never wins first place.
Bruiser takes the gloves from me and says, “Good work tonight, kid. Go home and sleep it off.”
I could have handled more, I want to say.
I could have done anything you asked. Is this how it’s going to be all week?
You urging me to take a break every twenty minutes?
Me blending in with the rest of the class?
You pulling me out once in a while to act as a demo dummy?
I don’t want a free membership to your boxing club. I want a job.
Those words burn on my tongue. I want to unleash them all and see how Bruiser reacts. See what he says. But something tells me it wouldn’t be the smartest idea to explode into a whiney tirade about working conditions on my very first day.
So instead, I grab my water bottle from the floor. “See you tomorrow, sir.”
“So, how was your first day? I want to hear all about it.” Tessa’s beautiful face is a sight for sore eyes (sore everything) as we FaceTime each other at ten o’clock that night.
I’m lying on my bed, my hair still wet from the shower, and Tessa is painting her fingernails with her phone propped up on her desk.
“It was… immobilizing. I am immobilized.” To prove my point, I swivel my phone and show her my disembodied prosthetic legs on the floor.
She laughs. “Aww, you poor thing. I wish I were there to cuddle you.”
“I wish you were here, too. Not just to cuddle, but to get stuff for me.”
“Get stuff?”
“Yeah, I could really go for a glass of milk right now, but there’s no way I’m putting those things back on tonight.”
Tessa pouts. “I could ask my mom to drive me over there so I can give you a glass of milk.”
“You would do that? For me?”
“I would do that. For you.” She gives me an air-kiss through the phone.
I give her one back. “You’re going to make such an amazing wife one day.”
She balks at the idea, but in a cute way. “I wonder who the lucky guy will be.”
“Ouch.”
We both burst out laughing, which makes Tessa smudge her nail polish and blame me for it.
“Okay, seriously, I want to know how it went!”
I blow out a sigh, dragging one hand over my face. “It… went. Nonstop for two hours. Killer workout, man. I thought I was gonna puke at one point.”
“Didn’t your boss let you take a break?”
“He told me I could, but I didn’t want to. If I’m going to keep this job, I’ve gotta prove that I can do everything he can do.”
“Okay. Just don’t hurt yourself—”
“I won’t. I’m not some pansy-ass who needs special treatment.”
Tessa frowns, surprised by my rough tone. “That’s not what I meant, Wes. I only said it because I love you, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I shut my eyes, rolling onto my side and resting the phone against my pillow. “I just felt like that’s how Bruiser was treating me tonight. Like I wasn’t up to par.”
“Why? Just because he offered you a break?”
“No, that wasn’t the only reason. I felt like I could have been doing more to help.
I mean, he used me for a couple of demonstrations, but other than that, I was basically just another student.
I offered advice to the kids I partnered with.
Some took it well. Others… not so much.” I sigh, massaging my achy shoulders.
“I guess I was just expecting Bruiser to give me more responsibility. It’s almost like he’s already decided he’s not going to give me the job, but he’s letting me have this trial week so he doesn’t feel guilty about saying no. ”
Tessa thinks about it all for a minute, painting her nails in silence.
“It was only your first day, Wes. Maybe he just wanted you to learn the ropes. I wouldn’t assume the worst yet.
” She smirks, tilting her head in a way that makes me wish I could kiss the side of her neck.
“Where’s my ray of obnoxiously optimistic sunshine? ”
God, how does she always manage to light me up with a single glance?
It’s like there’s a switch inside me that only she can throw.
One smile and boom, everything goes from black-and-white to technicolor.
Like that moment in The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy opens the door, and she’s not in Kansas anymore.
Life without Tessa is basically sepia Kansas.
“You’re right. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
“I do. You’re tired.” Tessa leans closer to the camera, her hair glowing in the light from the desk lamp. “Get some sleep. And next time, just try to enjoy it. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Are your nails dry?”
She checks them. “Almost. Why?”
“Because I’m still waiting for that glass of milk.”
If at first you don’t succeed in blowing your boss’s mind and making him want to hire you for life, try, try again. That’s the motto I take with me into the boxing gym on my second day of “work.”
Bruiser is still sticking to that “Don’t speak to me unless I speak to you” rule, which leaves me guessing my way through the entire class.
I tell myself, Maybe it’s better this way.
After all, Bruiser told me he didn’t want to have to train his assistant—he just wanted someone who instinctively knows what to do.
So I pay close attention to him all night, watching the way he interacts with students, talks them through every offense and defense, helps them to truly get it. Then, halfway through class, I make the disastrous mistake of following in his footsteps.
We’re in the middle of working combos on the heavy bags, paired up in twos so that one person can hold the bag still while the other person throws punches.
Incidentally, I end up holding the bag for Princess Leia—who is dressed in an overload of purple tonight.
Purple sneakers, purple leggings, purple sports bra (this one even more low-cut than the pink one.
Not that I’m looking. But it’s kind of impossible to not look).
She keeps throwing the same combination—jab, straight right, left hook—and losing her balance on the last shot. That’s when I decide to step in and offer a bit of friendly advice.
“Try twisting your hips to your right on the hook. It’ll keep you grounded instead of throwing off your weight.”
Leia frowns, puzzled. “Wait, what?”
“Like this.” I set myself up in front of the bag and throw the same combo in slow motion. Jab. Straight right. Left hook. On the hook, I snap my hips to the right, driving twice as much force into the bag and making it sway on its chain. “See how my feet stay on the ground? You try.”
I step back and watch as Leia attempts to copy my movements, but she fails miserably and tips her head back, groaning in frustration. “Ugh, I don’t think I’m doing it right. Maybe you can… move my hips for me. As I punch.”
“Uh, sure.” I awkwardly shuffle closer, positioning myself behind her and placing my hands on those blindingly purple hips.
That’s when I realize this is probably not a good idea.
It’s different for a guy like Bruiser—he’s more beast than man, devoid of all human emotion, treating every student like another slab of fresh meat to brutalize.
That’s not what I see when I put my hands on Leia. I see… a woman.
Dear god, I have my hands on a foreign woman’s body. It feels like a betrayal to Tessa somehow—and I immediately want to get away from her. But I’ve already crossed the point of no return. Contact has been made, and it cannot be unmade. Not without looking like a total weirdo.
Leia throws her jab, straight right, and hook. At the last second, I twist her hips toward the front of the gym and help her land her best shot of the night.
“That felt better,” Leia murmurs, turning to give me a long look over her shoulder. “You’re an excellent teacher.”
I just stand there, frozen like a deer in headlights. It’s not until a few seconds later that I realize my hands are still stuck to her hips.
DISENGAGE CONTACT.
I step back with a jolt, almost crashing into the neighboring heavy bag. “Uh, sure. No problem. Just… keep throwing like that. You’re doing good.”
Princess Leia smirks and continues pounding on the bag, boxer braids flailing.
I don’t pay for my crimes until the end of class when everyone is dispersing, water bottles and car keys in hand. That’s when Devon the R.O.U.S. pulls me aside, murder in his eyes.
“If I catch you touching my girlfriend like that again, I’ll make you sorry you ever met me, punk.”
I almost choke. “Your girlfriend?”
“Leia,” he seethes, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “Didn’t think anyone saw you grabbing her ass earlier?”
“First of all, I was nowhere near her ass. Secondly, she asked me to do it. She wanted to know how to move her hips to throw a hook. It was nothing more than that, I swear to God—”
“I know exactly what you’re up to,” Devon snarls, jabbing a finger at me. “And I’m telling you to stay the hell away from her, or else there will be serious consequences. Got it, punk?”
Serious consequences. Do all prep school kids threaten this eloquently? It’s almost comical. Punk. Who even uses that word anymore? I get the feeling he’s learned all his dirty slang from 1950s mafia movies.
“I have a girlfriend, okay? I’m not interested in yours. Punk.”
Devon doesn’t respond to this perfectly logical comeback. He just shoots daggers at me and loops his snobby sweat towel over his shoulders, marching out the door and meeting Leia on the sidewalk, where she leans against a black BMW, looking disgustingly pleased with herself.
Thankfully, Bruiser didn’t overhear any of that exchange (although I’m sure he would side with me concerning the hand-to-ass proximity). He’d vanished into the back room a few minutes earlier with a check that one of the students gave him.
I knock on the open door as I lean into the crowded little office. “Sir? You busy?”