Lucas
She's good. Too good. She picks up combinations fast. She focuses harder than half the men in here. When she misses a move, she frowns in frustration and tries again until she nails it.
She's chaos, but controlled chaos. A dangerous combination.
Theo throws on music — something bass-heavy — and the gym shifts into late-night energy. Fewer people. Darker lights. Closer bodies.
Aria is working the heavy bag alone. Hips turning into each punch, breath syncing with rhythm.
My throat dries. This can't keep happening. After yesterday it became even harder to resist her. "If I kiss you, would you kiss me back". She knew what she was doing. And it worked. This gravitational pull of her. Makes me want to find an excuse to go near her. Feel her breath, smell her perfume. Creepy. I know, I hate the person I am becoming for her. Weak.
I was still in thoughts when I found myself walking up to her. My body doesn't listen to me now.
I cross the gym and tighten her elbow from behind. My fingers brush warm skin. Electricity rockets up my arm like I touched a live wire.
She startles — then smiles without turning. Catches me from her corner of eye "Knew you'd come fix me," she murmurs.
"Your stance was slipping," I say, but my voice isn't as steady as I want.
Her breath stutters when I adjust her wrist. We're too close. If she turned an inch, we'd be chest-to-chest. Her hair smells like citrus and something sweet — irresistible.
"You want to hit them with your whole body," I murmur near her ear. "Not just your hand."
"Show me," she breathes.
I step in, chest brushing her back. I position her hips with my hands — careful, controlled — but her soft exhale ruins every ounce of discipline I have left.
"Better," I say, voice low.
She throws a punch. Perfect.
She laughs — bright, breathless — and turns to face me.
We're nose-to-nose. Her eyes drop to my mouth again. And this time… I lean in a fraction before I catch myself.
Not yet. Every encounter feels like a test. She's here to learn but I'm the one struggling.
I step back like I've been burned. "That's enough for today," I rasp.
Her eyes flash with disappointment. Or maybe challenge.
"Until next time, Coach," she says — and the way she says Coach should be illegal.
She walks away, hips swaying, leaving me standing there like a man who just dodged his own bullet.
I'm screwed.
Aria POV
The universe has many laws:
Gravity.
Thermodynamics.
And the most important one…
'Never underestimate a Black woman with great hair and smarter-than-you energy.'
Zara Bennett pushes open the gym door like she owns the place. My best friend. My partner in crime. No, chaos. We are practically same person, single soul spilt in to two bodies. I love her to the moon and Mars too.
Lucas thinks I'm trouble. So, I wanted to show him how lucky it was me, and be thankful it wasn't Zara. So, I invited Zara to the gym.
Her curls are big, bouncy, hypnotizing. Her jacket is neon pink. Her eyeliner could kill a man. And she walks with the confidence of someone who's used to having rooms turn toward her.
Which the entire gym promptly does. Including Lucas. I'm mid-jab when she spots me, raises a brow, and yells across the mats:
"Aria Collins! Are you cheating on your gym membership with this… testosterone factory?"
Heads turn. Theo actually chokes on his protein shake. Darius's mouth twitches like he's trying not to laugh.
I grin. "Z, I told you I started combat training."
"You also told me" she says, marching toward me, "that this place was run by a grumpy dude with nice arms and emotional trauma."
The gym goes silent. Zara blinks, looks around and realizes everyone heard.
"Oh," she says. "Hi."
Lucas is standing next to a punching bag, arms crossed, jaw tense, eyes locked on Zara in a way that says I am questioning every decision that led me to this moment.
Zara whispers (loudly), "That's him, isn't it?"
"Yep."
"He looks exactly like you described. Maybe taller."
Lucas clears his throat. "Hi."
"Oh no," Zara says, smiling sweetly. "We're not doing awkward military greetings. I'm Zara Bennett. I'm here to make sure my girl isn't being bullied, murdered, or recruited into a cult."
Theo bursts out laughing. Darius coughs to hide his smile.
Lucas… rubs his temple like his day just got harder.
A Study in Chaos
Lucas
I've met CIA analysts who were less intimidating than Aria's friend.
Zara Bennett:
Bright eyes.
Sharp tongue.
Smile like she knows things.
Head full of curls that bounce when she tilts her head and studies me like I'm a case file.
"Aria," she says, eyes never leaving mine, "you didn't tell me he glowers for a living."
Aria grins. "He does. It's like his day job."
Theo steps forward. "Hi, I'm Theo. I do not glower. I shine."
Zara gives him a once-over. "You look like trouble."
He smirks. "You look like you'd enjoy that."
"Not today," she says, breezing past him without missing a beat.
Theo freezes. Blinks. Looks personally attacked.
Darius pats his shoulder sympathetically.
I should not find any of this amusing.
Zara turns back to me. "So. You're training my girl. Is she doing well?"
"She's improving," I say. "Fast."
Aria beams like I handed her a trophy. Zara's eyes soften. For a moment, she's just a friend who loves deeply. "Good."
Then her gaze hardens again, precise and analytical. "I like to know who's in her life. I'm in-charge of her potential love interest"
"I'm her instructor," I say evenly.
She raises both brows. "That all?"
Aria chokes. I swallow. Theo looks like Christmas came early. Darius suddenly studies the ceiling.
I grit my teeth. "Yes."
Zara studies me a second longer… then smiles.
"Good," she says. "Just making sure."
But something about the way she says it tells me she sees more than anyone else.
Two girls. Two teenage girls rearranged the vibe of my gym that a bunch of muscular men would never dare to think about.
I should not let any of it affect me. I'm getting calls from office for intel. The bust that Theo reported was indeed linked to the mafia that I'm looking for. So, I ready myself to blend in to shadows once again tonight.
Aria
After Zara leaves (dragging a flustered Theo in conversation behind her — subtle? No. Hilarious? Yes), training ends late.
The city is loud outside, neon signs flickering, traffic humming. Lucas is locking up when he pauses and looks at me.
"You safe getting home?" he asks.
I shrug. "I'll be fine."
He hesitates. "Come up."
"To the roof?" I blink. "Why?"
"Air's better," he mutters. "Too loud down here."
It's an excuse. A bad one. But it's also the closest thing to an invitation he's ever given me.
So, I follow him up the metal stairs that lead to the building roof.
Cold air hits my face. The city stretches below — glittering, alive, chaotic. My kind of view.
Lucas stands beside me, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense like he's fighting himself more than the cold.
"You did good today," he says quietly.
"Thanks."
We stand in silence. Not awkward. Not comfortable. Something in between — charged.
Then he sighs. Low. Heavy. As if he's been holding something in for weeks.
"I don't… let people close," he says, staring across the skyline.
I study him carefully. "I know."
"But you…" He stops. Frowns. Starts again. "You make it hard."
My heartbeat stumbles. I step closer — not touching, just near enough that I feel the heat from his body.
"Lucas?"
His jaw flexes. "I don't want to want this."
I whisper, "Want what?"
He turns his head. Our faces are inches apart. His breath brushes my lips.
"This."
The silence between us thickens. Deepens.
I tilt my chin a fraction — the tiniest invitation.
He closes his eyes.
"No," he whispers.
And steps back. My chest twists. Not with pain — but with something deeper. Understanding.
"Okay," I say softly. "I told you… I'll wait."
He looks at me then — really looks — like he's memorizing the way I stand in moonlight. Like he's burning it into himself as something he can't have.
His voice is rough when he speaks.
"Aria… don't make this harder."
"I'm not," I whisper. "You're making it harder by pretending you don't feel it."
His breath stops. Just for a second. And that second tells me everything. He feels it. He's just terrified of it.
We stand like that — two people pulled together by gravity and pushing apart by force.
Slow-burn is a cruel thing.