He straightens and claps me on the shoulder. “Good. I’m going to work, then. You have boxing today?”
Another nod. “Terry’s probably going to put me through the ringer for skipping yesterday.”
I should care more. I’m literally risking my life if I don’t prepare for this fight.
And yet…
I wouldn’t trade yesterday with Scarlett for anything.
But Terrydoesput me through the ringer. As understanding as coaches are about sickness, they’re also firm believers in making up the work. Which means sparring the best boxers in the city isn’t my only workout for the day. I also get put through a grueling strength-training workout and sent on a four-mile run.
I don’t mind the busy schedule, though. It keeps my mind off Scarlett. And off of texting her. It isn’t until I’m getting ready for bed and smelling Scarlett on my pillows that the urge to text her becomes too strong.
Nico: If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?
For ten minutes, there’s nothing.
And then…
Bubbles appear. Relief floods my body. I didn’t think she’d give me her number just to ignore me, but the past few days already feel like a fever dream and I can’t bring myself to hope for more.
Scarlett: It’s a cliché answer
I stack my pillows against my headboard to get comfortable.
Nico: The world needs clichés
Scarlett: Greece
Nico: Because of the beaches?
Scarlett: That and the history
Scarlett: I’ve always been fascinated by the Ancient Greeks
Nico: Did I ever tell you I was a philosophy major in college for a brief time?
To my surprise—and delight—my phone buzzes with a call. When I answer, I’m greeted with Scarlett’s tinkling laugh.
I manage to smother my own giddiness enough to ask in mock outrage, “I’m sorry, are youlaughingat me?”
“You were a professional MMA fighter sitting in philosophy classes?” she asks, still giggling. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughingatyou, it’s just a funny picture.”
“I wasn’t pro yet, but…yes.”
“I have so many questions. Why did you pick it as a major? And why was it for only a brief time? And how on earth did people receive you in those classes?”
I’m grinning as I shift to a more comfortable position. “Now don’t get offended by this, but…I needed an easy-ish major. And Liberal Arts needed the smallest number of credits. And believe it or not, I’m actually pretty good at writing thoughtful ten-page papers.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe that?” she asks, all laughter gone. “Youarethoughtful.”
I shrug, even though she can’t see it. “I don’t know. Most people think fighters are idiots.”
“Most peopleare idiots,” she huffs.
Is it normal to be smiling this much from just a phone call?
“Speaking of school, how are your classes going?” I ask after a moment.
