Coach gathers his things as I stare at the ring, hands clenched by my sides. I shouldn't be jealous – I have no right to be. Wasn't it my idea to pretend our kiss never happened? Hadn't I wanted to keep things professional? Nico is doing exactly what I asked, so why am I so irritated?

With a sling of his bag, Coach walks over and reaches into his wallet. "You don't have to clean up today. I'll pay you anyway – call it compensation for your help tonight."

He's giving me an out – a reason not to train with Nico tonight – but as mad as I am, part of me wants to be around him regardless. "It's fine," I say, raising my hand. "Cleaning is kind of therapeutic for me."

Coach tilts his head. For a moment, I think maybe he sees through me. "You're one weird kid. Don't forget to lock up."

"I won't, but Coach?" He turns around, a thick eyebrow arched as he waits for me to continue. "Can I take a quick picture of you for the GymCon account?"

He frowns and glances at the door like he's contemplating making a getaway. Turning back to me, he lifts his hat to ruffle his hair and lowers it again. "Fine, but make it quick. My tv show starts soon."

I smile and pull my phone from my pocket before clicking on the camera. Surveying the room, I think about where the best place for him to stand is and order him in front of the heavy bags. "Okay," I say, positioning my camera, "now smile."

Coach grimaces.

I glance at the picture I'd taken and frown. "We should do another one," I say, "but this time try to actually smile."

"I am smiling, damn it."

I snap a few more before I realize that not being photogenic is a real thing, because on camera, Coach looks like a cracked-out potato. "Okay, one more," I say, and then I pull the most ridiculous face in the hopes it'll loosen up his expression. He looks at me, first in that way that suggests I'm an idiot, and then with a lopsided grin.

I snap it. With a quick look at the picture, I smile. "That's a wrap."

"Did you get my good angle?" he asks.

"Yes, I got your good angle."

He nods before heading to the door. When he gets there, he turns, that fatherly expression in place. "Don't forget to–"

"Lock up. I know, I know."

The second he leaves, I grab some tape and wrap my hands. Nico arrives moments later, strolling into the gym as casually as always, his eyebrow raised as he dumps his bag.

"You and Coach go on a field trip?" he asks.

I don't answer right away; I concentrate on my hands like I'm not the slightest bit fazed by his presence. "Something like that." I look up finally, hating how handsome he looks in his t-shirt and sweatpants. Briefly, I think about how his hands felt as they lifted my thighs and wrapped them around him, which only adds to my annoyance. Why is my mind so weak? "I don't want to do drills today – I just want to spar."

Maybe it's not the healthiest decision to spar with a guy I'm mad at, but at least it'll make me feel better. Without a word, he moves to the equipment box, grabbing the tape as I head to the ring.

In my head, I've convinced myself my irritation has nothing to do with seeing that girl and Nico. Maybe I'm tired – it's been a long day – or maybe my PMS is early this month. Whatever the case, it's not about Nico; I'm sure of it.

I step into the ring, my sneakers squeaking against the canvas as I shift into my stance. It's not long before Nico slips opposite, tall and intimidating but irritatingly handsome.

In one swift move, he throws me a helmet. "Forgetting something?"

I catch it with both hands, slipping it over my head before facing him head-on. We start slow, circling each other as we size the other up. I can feel a spark of electricity between us, a sexual tension that's been building since our kiss, and it takes all I have to ignore it. I lift my hands higher, determined to unleash my frustration before it eats away at me.

We both know what's at stake here. This is more than just a simple sparring match - this is every little frustration built since the moment he kissed me, ready to be unleashed in this ring. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, my fists clenched tightly in front of me.

He throws the first jab, and I duck and weave, slipping under his punch and countering with a sharp hook. He steps back, his eyes alight as he circles me again.

"This is becoming a pattern," he says.

I throw a right hook, annoyed when he dodges. "What is?"

He snakes even closer, dodging my jab and grazing my ear with his mouth. "You getting jealous when you see me with a girl. Anyone would think you like me."

My skin grows warm under the heat of his breath. He's seen straight through me, uncovered a truth I'd been desperate to ignore, and now there's nowhere to hide. "Well, they'd be wrong." I push him away, a flick of anger rising through me. "Are we sparring or talking?"

His mouth lifts, and he returns to his corner, circling me again. I want to punch him so hard that it wipes away that smile, but this boy is too damn fast. I slip closer, swinging so quickly that I'm sure it will impact, but it sails right over his shoulder. He follows with a tap to my helmet, so light that I barely stumble.

He throws another jab, but I duck under it, coming back up with an uppercut that catches him off guard. We dance around each other, trading blows and dodging punches in turn. For a moment, I catch his eye, and I feel a rush of emotion. This is more than just a sparring match, after all – there's something between us that goes beyond the ring, but I refuse to let it distract me; I need to stay focused if I'm going to win this.

"Admit it, Cassandra," he says. "You're jealous."

I swing again, driven by a desire to make him shut up, and this time, it grazes his cheek. "I'm not jealous, and you go too easy on me. Maddie went harder than you do."

He surges forward, lowering his face until it's inches from mine, his eyes briefly flashing with heat. "Maddie isn't as invested in your well-being as I am."

My heart flutters, but I don't let it deter me. I block his next hit, swooping beside him to land a sharp right hook. He stumbles back, eyes flashing with approval as he shifts into his stance. "I'm surprised you've given any thought to my well-being," I say, "considering you're always so preoccupied."

His eyes blacken, laced with a hint of amusement. "I help her to train – it's part of my job description."

"I'm sure it's torture for you."

He hits me with a blow that knocks me two steps back. "Not as tortuous as training you, Cassandra. Believe me."

I strike, and it grazes his cheek. "What did I tell you about that name?"

He shakes off my blow and lands a series of jabs to my helmet. I take them well, stumbling back before blocking his jab with a cross. As we spar, I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move. I focus on my technique, but it's hard to ignore the heat building between us. Each time we make contact, a jolt of electricity courses through my body, driving me insane.

For the next few minutes, Nico takes my criticism on board and doesn't go as easy on me, which both excites and unnerves me. My shoulders feel lighter as some of the anger disperses, but it's replaced by something decidedly more dangerous.

Desire.

Determined to fight it, I swoop in for the kill, landing a flurry of hits to his face. He dodges the last one, spinning around until he's somewhere behind me, knocking me on my helmet. I whip around, expecting to feel the solid force of his glove, but instead, he grabs my shoulders.

"Are you finished?" he asks.

"Finished with what?"

His eyes flash with annoyance at my feigned innocence. "You've been acting different ever since we kissed. I thought you wanted to forget?"

I look up at him, taking in his darkened expression. Part of me had only suggested it to protect myself from his invariable rejection, but maybe I was wrong; maybe Auden was too. "Are you saying you didn't?"

He drops his voice, leaning closer until his mouth is near mine. "Couldn't if I wanted to."

Hearing this shouldn't excite me, but it does. Heat fills my stomach, enough to force me forward until I press against his chest. His jaw tightens as those dark eyes trace me, battling some inner conflict.

"That's not very professional of you," I say.

His hand wraps around the back of my head while the other grabs my waist, drawing me closer. "Yeah, well, you make that difficult."

I lean closer, allowing my nose to graze against his jaw, which forces him to lower his head. I wish I were strong; I wish I could remember all the reasons why I shouldn't, but I don't remember anything at all.

It's hard to tell who initiates it first, but the moment our mouths meet, everything fades to oblivion. I kiss him harder, running my tongue back and forth along his, desperate to taste every inch of him.

His hands grab my hair as if demanding me closer. They slide down my shoulders, brushing my waist and pulling me close until the last sliver of space has dissolved. I grab his t-shirt, bunching my hands in the soft, supple cotton, using him to keep myself steady.

Eyes closed, I lose myself to the heat of his mouth. I thought I didn't need this; I thought with a little more time, I could forget I ever liked him, but tonight has shown me that's impossible.

I feel him everywhere, all over me. My throat thickens, filled with a burning that trickles to my thighs, where it quickly catches alight. His fingers reach my waistband, his breath quickening as his jaw forms a hard, hollowed line. I let out a breath, waiting for the moment we take things too far, but it doesn't seem to come. As quickly as he'd touched me, his mouth lifts from mine, and he roughly kisses my forehead.

My heart patters as the doubts creep in. "Why did you want to stop?"

His gaze meets mine with a hint of frustration. "Need is more accurate. Come on–" he steps back, grabbing my hand as he helps me through the ropes, "–let's get you home."

We gather our things before heading downstairs. The air still feels thick with tension from our kiss, but neither of us speaks or acknowledges what happened; I wouldn't know what to say anyway. One kiss is a mistake, twice is a choice, which means no matter how hard I convince myself otherwise, I like Nico.

Even if I shouldn't.

Once on the sidewalk, Nico grabs my hand before I can escape and tugs me toward him. "Not so fast," he says and kisses me gently. I fall into him, molding to his chest as if the space was meant for me. It's different from our last kiss; gentle and fleeting but enough to thaw my heart that little bit more.

Clearly, I'm in trouble.

A/N

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