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I chance a look over my shoulder and watch Rori follow behind me, her eyes inquisitive as she takes in her surroundings. The gardens are massive, land beyond land where the sky meets the ground, and I can tell as she silently observes that she’s in awe.
Again, I don’t know much about Rori, but I know she likes it outside.
Leading her a little further around the house, I stop at a smaller building and tap in a code on the keypad at the entrance.
“What ever happened to a lock and key?” Rori says sarcastically and I smile at her wit, opening the door.
“Harder for you to escape this way,” I tease, stepping inside to hold the door open so she can enter.
Rori pauses at the entrance as I close the door behind her and I watch her reaction to the space.
The gym is one big room filled with all the equipment a gym lover would die for. Weights, benches, every single machine you could think of, treadmills, bikes, cross trainers, you name it. To the left side of the room is a huge matted area with padded flooring and yoga mats with an entire mirrored wall. To the right side of the room is a small boxing ring, complete with punch bags, speed bags, and gloves and pads.
Myself, King, and Puck frequently came here—I’ve never actually seen anyone else use it—but since they’ve been gone, I haven’t stepped foot in the gym. I’ve been too busy drowning my sorrows in a bottle or stalking the girl next to me.
“What do you think?” I ask her, watching her stand still.
“Honestly,” she says, turning to me. “This means nothing to me.”
I laugh at her and insert my hand in hers again. “It will soon.”
I take her over to the boxing ring and grab onto the second rope, hauling myself up onto the box. I turn to take Rori’s hand to help her up and she raises a brow at me.
“We’re not doing anything. I’m just showing you.”
Rori looks around the ring and then leaves me hanging with my palm still outstretched and walks towards the steps located at the corner of the ring.
Stepping up slowly, she puts a leg through the second rope and I run to help separate them. She steps through quite gracefully and then wraps her hands in her plait. It’s a habit I cannot help but notice and every time I go to mention it I pussy out, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.
“How do you feel?” I ask her to alleviate the silence.
“Awkward.”
I look at her and smile. Even standing up straight, fiddling with her hair, her eyes confused and wide, she's still stunning.
“You don’t look awkward.”
She side-eyes me and I laugh, throwing my head back. Her fingers slow down and a small smile creeps on her face and the more she’s around me, the faster it’s getting for her to relax with me. And I thrive on it.
“Hit me,” I say confidently and stand still in front of her.
Her eyebrows scrunch together and she flinches back slightly. The silence is deafening and I want to laugh again. This girl just has no idea.
“Come on, hit me.”
“I’m not going to hit you.”
“Why not?”
She looks at me like I’m mad. Maybe I am. I feel clinically insane around her most of the time.
“Because I’m not just going to hit you.”
“You hit me earlier,” I respond quickly.
“That’s because I was mad,” she replies just as fast, her voice rising the slightest bit. Good.
“Then get mad.” I push.
