“Why do you ask?” he said with a smirk. “Are you jealous?”
His question made me stutter-step, and instead of doing a double jab, I only did a single with my left and moved to the cross before he was ready. My right hand connected with his jaw.
“Oh shit,” I said as he stumbled back. His foot caught on a duffel bag that seemed to appear out of nowhere on the floor, and he went down.
I rushed forward, trying to take off my gloves as I went, but they were still stuck on my hands. I used my teeth to untie one string this time, trying not to think about the germs, and then tucked that hand under my left arm and yanked. One hand was finally free, and I used it to free the other. He had landed on his ass, and he sat there for a moment, arms draped over his knees, a stunned expression on his face.
I dropped down to my knees in front of him. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” I studied his face where I had connected. “KO?” I said quietly, really the only boxing term I knew. Knockout. At least I thought that’s what it meant.
“I’m not unconscious,” he said.
“Is that why you don’t teach lessons?” a deep voice called from the other side of the gym.
He waved as if acknowledging the truth of the statement.
“I’m an idiot,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
He gave a breathy laugh. “You’re not an idiot. I should’ve had my hands up.”
He had a light pink mark on his jaw, and my fingers instinctively went to it, ever so gently tracing a line around it. “Do you have ice? We should put ice on it.”
“I’m not going to put ice on it. It was a tap.”
“A tap?” I said, looking around for an ice machine or a door leading to a place where one might exist. It had not been a tap. I obviously wasn’t a pro, but all my weight had been behind it. I’d felt the hit, heard it.
“We don’t have an ice machine,” he said.
“You should really have one at a boxing gym. For injuries.”
“We’re too tough to care about injuries.” He pushed himself to standing, then reached down to help me up.
When I was on my feet, I pointed to the front door. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?” he called, but I was already fast-walking away.
CHAPTER 14
“Where did you get that?” Elijah asked when I found him in the office again after my trip down the street.
“At the restaurant next door.” I held up the ziplock bag full of ice. In my other hand were the black wraps I’d taken off my hands while waiting for said ice. I set them on the corner of his desk.
“You’re going to give me a bad reputation,” he said.
“They don’t know you’re human? Who do they suspect you are? Wolverine? He’s the one who can heal himself super-fast, yes?”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what they think.” He was standing at a file cabinet, putting something away.
“Sit down,” I said.
“Sutton, I’m fine. I promise. I’ve been punched in the face before.”
“You have? Why?” I remembered the thin scar going through his right eyebrow. I wondered if that was from getting punched.
“Because I work in a boxing gym.”
“Fair point.” I nodded to his office chair. “Will you just sit down? Please. I already have one difficult patient at home, I don’t need another.”
I don’t know what he saw on my face—exhaustion, perhaps—but he sat down without another word.
