Her punch, My Weakness

Her Punch, My Weakness
I fight for a living. She got in the ring in lip gloss and lace-and somehow ended up knocking the wind out of me.

During the day, I help my mom at our little bakery. At night, I throw punches in underground fights to keep the lights on. I've fought bruisers, brawlers, and beasts-but never anyone like her.

She does not look like ring material. Soft curls, painted nails, a smile too sweet for this world. Do not be fooled, however-she is quick, deadly, and possesses a left hook that rattled my ribs. and another thing I was not anticipating: my heart.

I thought I would win the fight and forget her.
Instead, I keep on losing-to her smile, her empathy, and the way she looks at me like I'm more than anger and fists.

We weren't meant to fall in love.
But love, like boxing, doesn't follow the rules.