Lucas
She shouldn't be here.
That's my first thought as I dab antiseptic on the cut on her cheek. It's small, more dramatic-looking than serious, but she winces like I just stabbed her.
"Ow," she hisses. "Is that really necessary? Are you sure that's not acid?"
"Don't be a baby."
She glares. Up close, her eyes are hazel with little gold flecks, like sunlight caught in glass. There's a smear of black under one eye, mascara tracking down her cheek. Her ponytail is a mess. She looks like chaos wrapped in leggings and a bomber jacket.
"It stings," she insists.
"It's supposed to," I say. "Means it's working."
Behind us, Theo leans against the wall like he's watching a TV show.
"She's right, you know," he says. "You're being very unsympathetic, boss. Customer service needs work."
"She's not a customer," I say.
"Yet," the girl says.
I look at her. "No."
She blinks. "What do you mean, 'no'? You don't even know what I was going to say."
"You were going to ask if you can join here," I say. "You're not here to learn. You're here for the thrill. Like that circus outside."
Her lips part in offended surprise. "You don't know me."
"I know the type," I say. "I don't train people who think punches are just another kind of high."
Theo whistles low. "Ouch. Okay, first of all, rude. Second, did you major in Judging People or is that just a hobby?"
The girl huffs. "Wow. Do you talk to all potential paying customers like this? What's your marketing strategy—insult until they leave?"
"You're going to leave. Aren't you?" I say.
She hops off the treatment table, barely giving me time to put the antiseptic down. "Fine. I get the message, Mr. Grumpy Combat Guy. You don't like protesters. Or fun. Or women who bleed in your sacred space."
Theo snorts.
The girl shoulders her bag and heads for the door. Outside, the noise has died down a bit, but the air still looks hazy.
I watch her go, telling myself that's it. Random protest girl. End of story.
Theo sighs dramatically. "You're really not gonna ask her name?"
"No." Why should I know her name?
"We've got a brand to build, Lucas. Viral marketing. She's literally a walking social media account. I could feel it." he points at her leaving figure.
"Exactly the problem," I say.
Theo shrugs, then jogs after her toward the front.
I'm halfway to the ring when I hear Theo again.
"You sure you want to go out there?" he's saying. "Cops are still jumpy. We've got lockers, you can wait it out."
"I'm fine," she says. Then, louder, "By the way, my name's Aria. So, you can put that on your mental blacklist of people not to train."
I stop.
Aria.
I don't turn around. I don't go after her. Instead, I climb into the ring and start hitting the bag, each punch a measured outlet for the frustration coiling in my chest.
"She's not your problem," Darius says quietly from the corner.
I didn't hear him come back in.
"I know," I say.
But the thing about problems is, they rarely ask permission before they walk into your life.
"I like her. I think she could use some of your lessons, you know self-defence" he said calmly from where he was sitting.
I caught the punching bag before it bounces back and hit me in the head. And faced Darius. When he didn't answer the obvious question on my face, I said "I already have Theo to bug me off. I don't need another one." I deadpanned.
I turn back to the waiting punching bag. He smiles but doesn't say anything else.
Sure, Theo is annoying as hell but the sturdiness of Darius sometimes touches my nerves without him doing so much. Smart ass bastard.