or the rest of our meal, I'm hooked on her every word. I figured we'd have nothing in common, that dinner would be filled with unnatural silences and awkward conversation, but it's not. I could listen to her talk for hours about her life, and even though I've never experienced half of what she's saying, I can't stop listening all the same.

"So, you went horse riding in Mexico even though you don't know how to ride," I clarify.

"The tour guide said we didn't need to know how to ride," she says, "but then the next thing I know, my horse is bolting off down the beach at the speed of light and I'm hanging on for dear life. I lost both my flip-flops that day as well as a little bit of my dignity."

I can't keep the grin off my face. "You know, the more you talk, the more I actually think you're insane."

She smiles and says, "It's actually one of my favourite memories. I've always loved riding – it's the one thing that makes me feel free, you know?"

"Do you do it a lot?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Haven't ridden since I was a kid. Life kind of got in the way, I guess." She lifts her head, and I notice her eyes have darkened. "What about you, anyway? What places have you been to?"

She leans in closer, and I realize our legs are pressed together under the table. I'm suddenly thinking of that kiss at her house, and my whole body tenses.

"I haven't," I say, still focused on our legs. "Been anywhere, I mean. I've never really left LA."

Her eyebrows fly up. "Not even to go to another state?"

"Nope."

"Oh." She starts to look guilty, and I realize it has never occurred to her that some of us might not have the funds to travel. "I'm sorry," she says. "I have this thing where sometimes my brain isn't connected to my mouth."

I smirk. "It's fine. I mean, I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything."

She goes to speak, but the waitress comes over to clear our plates and asks if we'd like dessert. Alyssa says yes before the waitress finishes the sentence, and I suppress another smirk as she opens up the menu.

"I'll have the Baklava please," she says, and I order the same. When the waitress walks off, Alyssa adds, "I've never had it before. Is it nice?"

I smile a little. "The best."

The dessert comes, and as soon as it's placed in front of her, Alyssa wolfs it down like her life depends on it. I watch in fascination, and when she finishes her plate and eyes my own untouched dessert, I laugh and push it toward her.

"So, the Baklava is a hit then," I say.

She flashes a smile, and I swear my heart stops. "I think this is my new favorite restaurant."

When we're finished, I get the check despite her protesting. I lie and tell her she can get the next one, and we walk in silence to my car. "Did you drive to the gym?" I ask.

"No, I got an Uber," she says. "I figure I'm cutting the risk of being carjacked down significantly by alternating."

I grin and open her door. She looks at me for a second, smiling as she slips into the passenger seat. I walk around to the driver seat and climb inside before starting up the engine.

She doesn't stop talking the whole way home. I can barely hear Tupac over the sound of her voice, but unlike when Kino does it, I don't seem to mind. In fact, I kind of like it.

At some point, when we pull up to a stoplight, I glance over. She's tapping away on her phone again, her lip pulled between her teeth like she's stressing about something.

"You all right?" I ask.

She tenses. "Yeah, it's just my mom stressing again."

I raise an eyebrow. "I take it you didn't tell her you were with me."

I expect her to look at me, but she puts away her phone and focuses on the window. "My parents are very complicated people."

The light turns green, and I press my foot to the gas. "Complicated how?"

She sighs and says, "I just–you know all the things you make fun of me for? Well, that's them but times one thousand. It makes telling them things kind of difficult." She pushes her hair from her face and says, "So, what made you choose Hayden's gym, anyway?"

I grin because it's not exactly a subtle way of changing the subject, but I don't press it. "Lack of choice," I say, making a left turn. "I got my boxing license a few years back and trained with an incredible coach." My throat feels tight, so I take a moment before I speak again. "He's the reason I won my first few amateur fights."

I can feel her eyes on me, but I look straight ahead. "What happened?" she asks.

"He died of a heart attack last year. The gym gave me another coach, but it was never the same. Then, a few months ago, they upped the membership fee and I couldn't afford it anymore. I left and came here. I have another fight coming up, which is why I've been training so hard."

She smiles and says, "I've noticed."

"It's kind of a make or break deal." I say it like the weight of the world is on my shoulders, but she shrugs and looks over.

"I believe in you."

I tense–this is the first time anyone has ever said that to me. "Thanks."

We're silent for the rest of the journey. I've got Tupac blasting from my speakers and my right arm sits by hers on the armrest. It feels familiar somehow, like I've never known anything else; it's scary as hell.

I take the long way to her house, wanting this to last. I don't know what it is about her that's got me feeling this way, but it's getting harder to ignore. There is something tantalizing about being in her presence, about being deemed worthy of her time; I both hate it and can't get enough of it.

Eventually, I pull up outside her house and kill the engine. It's a bad idea, I know the longer I'm sat here, the more I'll want to kiss her, and somewhere deep inside this thick skull of mine, I know kissing her means trouble.

She unbuckles her seatbelt and gathers her things. "I really liked that place you took me to," she says. "We should go again."

I suppress the grin that wants to spread across my face. "We can go somewhere different. There are lots of similar places around here."

Her eyes light up, and I swear it's like I've just told her I'm taking her to Paris, or something. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

I nod and watch her reach for the door, but I don't want to let her. I grab her hand and pull her toward me. She turns to face me, and I don't stop pulling until her face is near mine, until my mouth is seconds from tasting her.

My hands go up to either side of her face, and I kiss her. Her lips are as soft and as warm as I remember, and her tongue quickly tangles with mine.

I fight back the part of me that wants to take things further, wants to know how she feels. This thing between us–whatever it is–could go south very quickly, but right now, I don't care.

I pull her on top of me until she's sat on my lap, and she leans forward to kiss me. Her hair falls in golden waves around her chest, and I pull her in closer until there's nothing between us but warmth and skin.

For the next few minutes, there is nothing on my mind but the taste of her mouth. I'm getting hard everywhere, impatient, and I finally pull away to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, and she's got that look in her eyes again that can somehow drive me insane.

"You need to go," I say softly, but I say it to her lips. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I nod and watch as she gets out of the car, walking up to the gates. She rests her finger on the keypad on the wall, and they start to creak open.

I spend a few minutes regaining control before I turn on the engine. A hooded figure walks up the street as I'm pulling away. He gets to the gates, pulls down his hood, and rings the button on the pad.

Justin.

I grip the steering wheel. The gates creak open, which means someone inside has seen that it's Justin and has invited him in.

I start my journey home feeling angry and stupid. I still taste her on my lips, but now the heat I'd felt earlier is replaced with a feeling I know all too well.

Regret.

❤️