Right Hook (Gaslight series) COMPLETE

25| A little too honest

Alyssa ♔
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In the seconds that follow, my heart starts to race. I keep my hands raised and look at him through the gap in my gloves, able to see him smiling. In here is the only time he smiles at me; it makes me feel like I've earned it.

I try to surprise him with a sudden right jab. He ducks just as quickly, straightening back up with a cute, boyish grin. I frown and try again, but landing a hit on somebody like Max is pretty much impossible.

He suddenly comes alive with rhythm, his hands jabbing out in one-two movements, gently tapping my helmet. I can tell he's going easy on me, but I lack the finesse to dodge or duck, so every hit makes contact.

"Have I told you I hate boxing?" I ask between hits.

Max grins and gets in one last hit before dropping his hands. "It just takes practice. You'll get it eventually."

"You don't know that," I say. "What if I'm one of those people who give one hundred percent but never get the hang of anything?"

He thinks for a moment. "Then you still get an A for effort."

I smile and try to sidetrack him with a quick one-two jab, but he ducks and aims for my helmet. I dart to the left, but my feet get all tangled and I trip. His hands are on my waist in an instant, and he softens my fall to the ground.

"Okay," I say. "I officially give up."

He rolls his eyes. "You're such a quitter." His hands stay positioned either side of my hips. I can feel their warmth through my tank top.

"There's nothing wrong with quitting," I say. "Maybe I'm just smart enough to know when it's time to give up."

He suppresses a smirk. "You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

"It's part of my charm."

He's silent for a moment, and I watch as he lowers his gaze to my lips. From the look on his face, he's thinking about our kiss last night; I'm thinking about it, too. I lean in a little, loving the way his neck muscles tense, but just when I think he's about to lean in too, he drops his hands.

"I'm starving," he says. He gets to his feet and offers his hand, helping me up. I clasp my fingers around his, allowing him to pull me up. "Come on. Let's get some food."

He drives us to a local restaurant not far from the gym, and we park outside before heading in. The place is small, with maroon-colored walls and a garishly patterned carpet. The waiter sits us by the only window, and we take a moment to scan the menu.

"It's probably not what you're used to," Max says, and what looks like embarrassment crosses his face. "But I swear, the food is amazing."

I frown, because, for the briefest of moments, it's like I see myself in his eyes; what I see isn't pretty. "No, it looks good."

The waiter comes back to take our drink orders and asks if we're ready. On Max's recommendation, we each order something called Inegol kofte, and the waiter smiles before disappearing into the back.

We spend the next few minutes talking about food, before the conversation moves to other things, like our childhoods. He speaks about Kino mostly, about their adventures as kids, about the way they used to play games in his room while his parents argued downstairs.

He tells me his mom is the strongest person he knows, and that he'd considered quitting boxing when his father left but quickly decided against it. "Quitting meant letting him win," he says, "so, I ended up fighting harder than ever."