I STRETCH MY fingers out along the cool grass, shutting my eyes and trying my best to only focus on the midday sun and the cool breeze running along my face. Nothing else. Nothing else.

        Not the look of disdain as Roman looked at me in his bedroom a week ago. Not the strange expression on my friends' faces as we argued the other day. Not the sudden loneliness I'd found this summer. No, I wasn't thinking of any of those things. Because thinking about it made me hurt and I didn't think I could handle hurting any longer.

        Being out in the backyard was the furthest I've gone from my bed in days. Roman hadn't called or texted or showed up at my house. Which led me to believe that I'd hit pretty close on the mark that day—I was just a charity case to him. He was probably glad to be rid of me. I'd be glad to be rid of me.

        But there was something, some little voice in my head that told me there was something more there. Something that I wasn't seeing, some detail that I'd overlooked. And that kept my head spinning.

        "It doesn't matter," I whisper to myself, squeezing my eyes shut tighter. "It doesn't matter."

       And maybe it shouldn't have. But it did. And now that I'd acknowledged this little seed of doubt it was growing and growing until Roman De Carlo was all I could think about. Why was he so upset by my words? Why couldn't he give me a name for what we were to each other? Why did he so often speak to me like he...like he wanted me?

        I sit up, deciding that was enough tanning. Things couldn't be over with Roman. I didn't know why exactly, but I knew that I didn't want to lose him. Not yet. Not like this.

        I make my way into the house and shrug into some clothes quickly. It felt good after days of inactivity to have a plan for once. And I knew just where to start.

The boxing gym was slightly more crowded than it had been the day Rome and I went but I push my way inside the doors anyways. I immediately feel out of place in my t-shirt and jeans but I ignore that and look around the gym. I'm getting ready to call it quits when I see a familiar face lifting weights.

I practically jog up to the corner of the gym. Charlie grunts softly as he lifts up what looks to be a very heavyweight, a light sheen of sweat shining on his brown skin. I clear my throat, tapping his knee quickly. "Charlie," I say, my voice coming out quiet in a room full of techno music and masculine grunts. "Charlie!"

       Charlie jumps and the weight drops onto his chest in a loud thud. "Oh my God!" I exclaim, quickly reaching forward and latching onto the bar with as much strength as possible. Even then, I can't manage to get the damn thing off.

        "Let it go, Braylen," Charlie pants, his voice labored from the exertion. I quickly move away and Charlie lifts the weight up over his head and onto the rack. He lets out a huge breath before raising his eyebrows. "What's going on?"

I wring my hands, suddenly feeling even more out of place than I had before. As if that was even possible. "I...I was hoping Roman would be here. He's not answering his phone calls or texts—"

"He's a busy guy," Charlie interrupts. "That's not too uncommon, trust me."

I shake my head. "No, no. This is more than that. I screwed up. Badly. And I made him upset and I'm pretty sure he hates me now which I wouldn't be surprised because, let's be honest, I'm not the most lovable person in the entire world and—"

Charlie looks at me with an uncomfortable expression. I sigh deeply. "Sorry. Sometimes I ramble. Sue me."

He glances around the gym before standing and walking over to a desk near the front. I follow him awkwardly, averting my eyes from the hulk-like sweaty men that looked at me and my scrawny arms judgmentally. Charlie stops at the desk and grabs a single piece of paper from a pile, handing it to me. "He has a fight tonight," Charlie says. "You can catch him there."

"A fight?" I ask, glancing down at the paper. Roman's name and someone else's I didn't recognize took up the flier, stating that the fight started approximately at 11:00 p.m. tonight.

Charlie glances down at me with etched brows. "Can I tell you something, Braylen?"

I look back up at him. "Okay."

He takes a breath before speaking. "Roman and I are friends. I know what I need to know about him. I know his birthday, his favorite color, how much he can lift. But that's all. We don't go any further than an easy friendship."

I scrunch my brows, chuckling softly. "Not sure I follow, Charlie."

He leans on the desk, eyes zeroing in on me. "I don't know what exactly it is you want from Roman, but I can tell you this: you won't get it. An easy, casual friendship is all he offers. He doesn't want the drama. He's got enough on his plate. So whatever all this is, I'd suggest you let it go."

My mind was whirring. What exactly was Charlie trying to tell me here? "So, what are you saying? That I shouldn't go to that fight? That Roman and I won't ever be good friends?"

"I'm not saying you won't be friends," Charlie says, looking at me pointedly. "I'm just saying...it's not ever going to be more. I don't even mean more romantically. I mean, he's never going to let you in. Not really."

I shake my head. This conversation was all wrong. "I still don't understand."

Charlie sighs, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Look, I'm not saying Roman is a bad person. I like the guy. But if you're looking for something real, I wouldn't go looking for it in him."

I shrug out of Charlie's hold. "No. I think you're wrong about him."

"Am I?" Charlie muses. "How many of his friends have you met, besides me? Family members?"

"I—" I start, but realize if I didn't count Charlie, the answer was zero.

He smiles sarcastically. "Mhm. Do you know where he disappears to over the weekends? Why he's always so busy?"

"I know how it sounds, but I know him, Charlie," I hiss. "I don't need to know his friends or his family or where he goes. It doesn't matter. I know him."

Charlie leans in closer to me. "You don't. And you never really will."

I set my jaw. "Thanks for the flier. And the...advice. But I'll take my chances."

I turn on my heel, storming away from Charlie. "Good luck, Braylen," Charlie calls out. I can practically hear the laugh in his voice.

"Later, Charles!" I yell back, not even bothering to look at him.

¥

        It wasn't difficult to find the location of the fight, the flier laying out the details perfectly. I had gone home and changed out of the halfhearted outfit I'd thrown on earlier and opted for a leather jacket and black jeans instead. I figured a rugged look would be best around this crowd, at least.

        I stuff my hands in my pocket as I wait in the long line of people who apparently were looking forward to this matchup—everyone was practically buzzing with excitement. A soft beep alerts me to a message on my phone and I pull it out of my front pocket.

dev: are you okay? haven't heard from you in a while. i'm really sorry about the other day. i want to talk to you about it. let me know when you're free

        I shut my phone off, blinking the message away from my mind. I was still angry with my friends, Devin especially. I appreciated him checking up on me, but something about it made me feel weird. Like I was some liability or something. I couldn't understand why I was suddenly so important to him.

        The girl in front of me finishes up with the teller and I walk up to take her place, smiling. "Hi. How much is a ticket?"

        The teller looks at me with dead eyes. He had a huge bald head and so many piercings it was easier to count the places that didn't have holes drilled in them. "We don't sell tickets, kid. You either know the password for this week or you don't."

        I can't hold back my laugh. "What, is this some secret society or something? Passwords?"

        The teller's face doesn't change. He grabs a walkie-talkie from his back pocket and brings it to his lips. "Yeah, this is Colin. I'm gonna need security."

        "Wait!" I screech, staring into the door behind him. I could see people walking around the dark-colored building, a huge ring in the middle of it. "Wait, I'm friends with one of the fighters. Roman De Carlo, he knows me!" God, I sounded like a groupie.

        "Yeah, and it was me in the sex tape with Kim Kardashian," Colin says sardonically. "Scram, kid!"

        I run a hand through my hair, suddenly panicking. "You don't understand, I need to get in there! I need to talk to Roman and tell h—"

        "Braylen?" A voice calls out. I turn my head back to look inside and my breath catches.

        Roman had on a black tank top that sculpted to his chest perfectly, complete with matching shorts and boxing shoes. His tattoos were on full display and beyond that, I could see just how built he really was. To put it plainly, he looked good. The knowledge of that pricks at my heart just a bit. "Rome," I breathe out.

        "He's fine, Colin. He's with me," Roman responds, turning on his heel and walking away. Colin sighs before making a gesture that I should go in. I glare at him briefly before running in after Roman who seemed to have gotten lost in the crowd far too quickly.

        I'm bumping into people left and right, calling out Roman's name to no avail. When a particularly burly guy glowers at me for shoving his shoulder I decide to give up for now. It was a small room. How far could he have gone?

        "Attention, Attention!" a removed voice calls out. Someone had been handed a microphone, though I couldn't find the person. Did it have to be so dark in here?  "Tonight's fight is Roman De Carlo vs. Barrett Lawson. Bets can be made at the tellers. Five rounds. Let's go!"

        The crowd around me cheers loudly and I refrain from shutting my ears at the sound. "Calling to the ring, Barrett Lawson!"

        A spotlight is suddenly shone over the ring, illuminating the place as a tall, tanned man walks onto the mat. He's got long blond hair tied back in a ponytail and puffed-up cheeks as he chews on his mouthpiece. There's a man next to him—one carrying towels and water—egging on the crowd to continue cheering for Barrett.

        The applause doesn't die out for at least a minute. Barrett must be a fan favorite. Finally, the announcer speaks again. "And calling to the ring, Roman De Carlo!"

        Roman walks out then, rolling his shoulders and stepping out into the spotlight. It made the skin on his arms and legs shine and for a moment I forget how to breathe. There's a man behind him as well, one I don't recognize. I push my way to the front of the ring, cupping my hands around my mouth. "Roman!" I call out. My call gets drowned in the applause. I was just another voice in a crowd.

        Heaving a sigh, I call out his name again. "Roman!" I shout. This time, my voice breaks through. He had to have heard me. He had to.

        A slight shake in his head told me that yes, he did hear me. It also told me that he wished he hadn't.

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stuff's gonna start picking up from now on...get ready !
-jo