Too Close
Chapter seventeen
Aurora Driscoll
If this were a horror movie, everyone in the theater would be yelling at me right about now.
I didn’t tell any of my friends where I was going tonight.
But I know I’ll be fine. Marigold and Jameson came to one of these fights before, and the worst thing that happened was they got kicked out.
If it were unsafe, people wouldn’t show up every week.
Maybe.
Probably.
My hands clench in the sleeves of my sweatshirt.
I’ve heard people dress up for these things, but when I texted Hayes, he told me to wear whatever I’d be most comfortable in.
So, baggy sweats made the most sense. I’m not sure if it will draw more or less attention to me.
As Hayes has pointed out more than once, the ship of being unnoticed has sailed away, and I’m stuck on land with him.
I approach the frat house where the fight is being hosted and try to extinguish the nerves burning in my stomach.
A group of two guys and two girls walks through the door into the darkened house, talking quietly.
I slip in behind them and follow them down a path of electric lanterns and a set of stairs.
The house is silent aside from our footsteps.
At the bottom of the staircase beneath a singular hanging light bulb is a burly guard holding a metal detector. His scowl is as menacing as his muscles.
“Password,” he grunts.
One of the girls whispers something I can’t make out.
My pulse skyrockets. Password? Hayes didn’t say anything about that.
I touch my phone in the pocket of my sweats.
Should I try to call him? I shake my head and let out a slow breath.
He said the bouncer would know me. There’s no point in him lying.
Another group of people stop a few stairs above me to wait. The guard rattles off a few rules that I’m too nervous to listen to and then welcomes the students ahead of me inside. I warily take their place.
“Password.”
“Oh, um, I’m with Hayes,” I stutter out.
The guard raises a thick brow. I’m sure he’s heard that before.
“Aurora, my name’s Aurora Driscoll,” I quickly add.
Recognition lights in his eyes. He reaches for the door.
“Welcome to the Shadow Ring, Miss Driscoll.”
The door opens with no rules given. He doesn’t use the metal detector on me or ask for my phone.
“Thank you,” I murmur, and rush inside, feeling the stares of everyone waiting behind me.
As soon as I’m inside, the sensation of being watched triples. Curious eyes follow my every step. Everyone is dressed like they’re headed to the theater, not a boxing match. I might as well have worn a giant neon sign around my neck that flashes the words I don’t belong here in a rainbow of colors.
Drinks are served in delicate glassware.
Hors d'oeuvres are plucked off gleaming silver trays delivered by servers in black formal wear. There’s a boxing ring in the center of the velvet-draped room, lit by a chandelier.
How did they even install that down here?
They move from house to house each week, so it’s not like it’s a permanent fixture.
I suppose money makes things like that possible.
I search the crowd for Hayes, wondering if I’ll see him before his fight. Besides asking him what I should wear and when to show up, I didn’t get any more details. To ask if I’d get to talk to him felt too much like something a real girlfriend would do.
Not seeing him, I retreat to the edge of the room, hoping to be left alone. My hopes are quickly dashed, though, when a man I don’t recognize approaches me.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” he says before taking a sip of the brown liquid in his short glass.
Unlike the other men in suits, he’s wearing shorts and a white T-shirt. There’s a faint splash of green on his cheekbone, evidence of a past fight. He must be one of the boxers tonight.
“It’s my first time here,” I reply, feeling unsettled but unsure of what to do.
He smirks like my words are an invitation to something. I cross my arms over my chest like a shield.
“Is that so? How about I show you around?”
I glance around the relatively small room, unsure of what he’d show me that I can’t see from right here.
“No, thanks. I’m okay.”
The scent of strong alcohol makes my nose wrinkle as he leans in a little.
“Come on, I can give you VIP treatment. I’m one of the fighters.” He winks, and my stomach turns.
“I’m not interested.”
His expression darkens and he takes another step. I know self-defense, but he’s presumably a trained fighter. And I haven’t practiced any of the moves my dad showed me since I came to college.
A hand lands on the guy’s shoulder. Relief courses through me as I see Hayes standing behind the other fighter.
“Is there a reason you’re so close to my girlfriend, Donovan?” Hayes asks, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Aside from you being a raging idiot, that is.”
Donovan’s dark expression fades into one of pure terror. He jerks away from Hayes and puts distance between us. Some of his drink splashes out of his glass and onto the toe of my white tennis shoe. Hayes looks at the stain with contempt.
“I-I didn’t know she was your girl,” Donovan stammers.
“I find that hard to believe, since everyone here knows her,” Hayes replies, his voice colder than I’ve ever heard it.
The intensity of the moment distracts me from the implications of Hayes’s words.
“We were just talking, I swear! I didn’t touch her.”
Hayes’s calculating gaze sweeps over to me. I recognize the unspoken question.
“I told him I wasn’t interested. He wouldn’t leave. But he didn’t touch me.”
“All right, I’ll give you two choices,” Hayes says, his attention back on Donovan. “You can leave now or after I flatten you in the ring.”
“I’m supposed to fight Martinez,” Donovan mumbles.
Hayes smiles without warmth. “Things change. Now choose, before I choose for you.”
Donovan’s jaw clenches. For a moment, I think he might take option number two, but he must think better of it, because he shoves his glass at a passing waiter before stalking away. The drink drips down the front of the male waiter’s uniform.
Hayes heaves a sigh and draws a sleek leather wallet out of his dress pants. It’s then that I notice, unlike Donovan, he’s in black pants with a white button-down. He draws a couple hundred dollar bills out and places it in the waiter’s gloved hand.
“W-what?” the young guy stutters, staring wide-eyed at the large bills.
“For having to deal with idiots,” Hayes says, then tips his head to indicate the server should move on.
“Thank you, sir!” the waiter blurts as though Hayes isn’t close to the same age as him. He rushes off in the opposite direction.
“What kind of shoes are those?” Hayes asks, gesturing to my feet as he trades his wallet for his phone.
“Um, Nike?” I shrug. I don’t pay much attention to the kinds I buy, except for pointe shoes. If I remember correctly, I saw these on sale right before the semester started and bought them because my old ones were starting to fall apart.
“Size?”
My brow furrows. “Eight. Why?"
“I’m getting you new ones, since he ruined those,” Hayes says before pocketing his phone again.
“They’re not ruined. I could probably get the stain out with a little dish soap.”
“Not necessary. The new ones will get to your house tomorrow.”
My eyes bulge. “How?”
Hayes smiles, and this time it’s a real one. His jaw loosens, and the hardness in his eyes dissipates. He throws an arm around my shoulder and draws me into his side.
“Not for you to worry about, Princess.” His lips brush the crown of my head, and my toes curl in my stained tennis shoes. “Now, do you need anything before the show begins? A drink? Food?”
I wrap one arm around his back and lean against him so that we don’t look awkward to anyone watching.
“I don’t think so,” I say, still taking everything that just happened in.
Hayes would have fought that guy just for getting a little too close to me. He bought me new shoes because a drink spilled on them. His lips touched me. Again.
“All right. I’ll have to change in a few minutes, but I’ll make sure no one bothers you again. Where do you want to stand?”
I look at the ring, where people are already starting to gather around. Far too many people, all of whom are sneaking glances our way.
“Any chance the fight is playing on a TV in a different room and I can watch from there?”
Hayes laughs.
“No, but I can make sure no one gets too close to you.”
“Okay,” I sigh. “Put me wherever you think is best.”
He guides me to a corner of the ring. The crowd parts and disperses for us, no one daring to stand in his path. He stops at the edge and turns so that he’s facing me.
“How about here?”
I shrug. “Works for me.”
My younger brother would be ecstatic to see something like this, though he might prefer being the one in the ring. I don’t mind watching fights, but I’m used to seeing them from the comfort of my family’s home, not an underground speakeasy full of nosy college students.
Hayes gestures for someone to come our way. I glance over my shoulder and see the bouncer from the door lumbering in our direction.
“This is my personal security, Mac,” Hayes explains as the giant stops behind me. “He’ll make sure no one gets too close.”
If people weren’t staring before, they sure are now.