“What exactly does one wear to a boxing match?” I ask, rummaging through my suitcase. I wonder, too, what we’ll be doing after.

“Um,” Charlie looks amused, sitting comfortably on the bed, watching me, “There’s nothing specific that people wear, I guess. You see all kinds of dress. Just wear what you want.”

How helpful, I think, but I say nothing.

“Have you decided what you want to do after? Do a lot of your friends go out after fights?”

“Some do. Are you sure you don’t want to just see if I can still get tickets to that concert? I think we would have much more fun there.”

After the tearoom – since Charlie had mentioned that it was somewhere he’d always wanted eat, but just hadn’t had anyone to go with – we spent the rest of the day going to new places that either of us felt that way about. Some places were completely new, neither of us had even seen them before; they just looked interesting, so we explored. Our conversations drifted comfortably, like usual, from one point of interest to the next. After we were told by a shop owner about a local band who were playing at an outdoor venue though, Charlie made it a point to mention how nice that would be, a lot.

While yes, listening to live music outside with Charlie’s arms wrapped around me sounds much better than going to watch people punch each other, I am quite determined to enjoy myself at this fight tonight. Then, Charlie will realize that I don’t have to be a complete pain in the ass when it comes to his profession.

“Is there a reason that you don’t want to go tonight, besides your belief that I don’t want to?”

Charlie looks away from me, towards the television that is playing on a low volume.

“I’m afraid,” He starts, his deep voice low, “I’m afraid that you’ll see it – what I do – and you won’t want to be around me anymore. It’s different than watching me train, Stella. When it’s just me in a gym, I can be the part of me that you know. But I can’t… I can’t be how I am with you when I’m boxing.”

“I’m glad that you’re honest,” I say, closing the space between us by crawling on the bed to sit beside him.

He puts his arm around me and looks into my gray eyes, leaning his forehead against mine.

“I’m also scared that,” He trails off, but his dark blue eyes still blaze into mine – only for a second though. Then, he drops his head into my neck, and starts to kiss me frantically, almost roughly.

“Charlie,” I say it so quietly at first, because the greater part of me wants him to keep going, but the small, more correct part of me needs to know what he’s saying.

“Charlie!”

I push my small hands against his chest and he backs away. His pouty lips already look a little swollen and his eyes are a bit red.

“I’m sorry,” He says, looking into my eyes again.

“What is it?” I ask breathlessly, “What are you also scared of?”

He is quiet for only seconds, but I can see hours pass in his eyes and it makes me nervous for what’s coming.

“I’m afraid that you’ll think I’m like him – your ex boyfriend.”

No. I think. No, No, No, he was nothing like you. And I don’t know why I can’t say it out loud at first. My mind is panicking because I know that Charlie has always been afraid that I would become fearful of him.

There is such a hard line between Charlie’s aggression and my ex-boyfriend’s, I know that.

“Charlie,” I start, laying my hand on his cheek, “You can’t think that I see him in you. I’ve never worried, not even for a second, that you were anything like him. You don’t remind me of that past, and you never will.”

He brings his hand up and puts it over mine, and I can tell that he isn’t worried anymore. It is so much easier to talk him out of his own agony now that he trusts me more.

What I say is honest, too. Sure, I used to be afraid that seeing Charlie fight would remind me of the abuse – but that was his world that I feared, not him. And I know him better now. I know that he wouldn’t do anything undignified; He wouldn’t treat someone unjustly.

I climb on to his lap, straddling him and kissing his lips. His hands are in my hair for a while, but when they start to rub at my legs, I pull away, leaving his lap and the bed.

“Come on, you are trying to distract me so we don’t make it to this match.”

I turn and smile at him as I walk in to the bathroom, intent on finally getting ready.

Charlie hovers for most of the time, but I’m not complaining.

His lips travel about my neck and my shoulders and my back as I apply makeup. When I go to repaint my nails at the desk in our room, he follows and I end up on his lap.

I’ve already removed the clean, pale pink polish that I’d worn for my first day at the office and I begin to apply dark purple – one of my favorite colors to wear – on my fairly short, but well filed fingernails.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” I ask Charlie, as he watches me paint my nails over my shoulder.

“I’ll get ready soon,” He says, his voice breathy and quiet. I want to know what he’s thinking, but I don’t ask.

While I’m waiting for my nails to dry, he starts to play with my hair, and it nearly puts me to sleep.

When Charlie emerges from the bathroom, I am lying across the foot of the bed in my new black dress. I don’t have any shoes on, and I’m contemplating just wearing short boots. I feel like they’ll make the dress more casual, and I generally hate wearing heels.

He stops when he sees me and tries to hide his smirk by biting his bottom lip.

“I am in a very vulnerable position to be laughed at, at least wait until I’m standing up,” I say, faking a frown and pulling my knees up to a bend. The hem of my dress is pushed up with the slant of my knees, and I reach down to fix it.

“You know,” Charlie takes a few steps and is at the bed, “Seeing you lie in this position doesn’t really make going to a boxing match seem any more appealing.”

He gently pulls my feet apart, spreading my legs so that he can position himself between them on the bed.

“Especially not in this,” His large hands begin to grip at my dress, gathering fistfuls of black chiffon as he leans forward to kiss my chest.

As much as I want to allow him to continue, I bury my fingers in his curls and push my hand back so that he looks up at me.

“You’re supposed to be ready by now. Isn’t it the guy who’s supposed to be waiting around?”

He groans and climbs off of me, “I guess I should dress up a little more than I was planning to, if that’s what you’re wearing.”

“You don’t have to change your plans at all, I just bought this dress today and I wanted to wear it.”

“I’m very glad you did,” Charlie remarks, before bending down to his suitcase and rummaging for clothes.

“Remember, if you feel uneasy, just tell me. I’ve seen plenty of these things, so it won’t bother me to leave,” Charlie says, leaning close to my ear as we enter the boxing venue. I can’t tell exactly where we are – whether it is a place for boxing, that also has a bar; or if it is a bar, that just happens to hold boxing matches now and again.

Regardless, I feel comfortable so far, and I’m happy to be here with Charlie. He looks incredible. His brown hair is fixed now, but still gloriously messy looking. The top, front is pushed back, like it often is, and has body to match the shorter, curly sides. He is wearing a simple, more casual black blazer over a loose undershirt with dark, well-fitted jeans, and boots.

He is also wearing the ring that I bought him, along with two of his thinner, silver bands.

“Do you want to sit at a table at the bar? That way we’re not… obnoxiously close.”

Charlie chooses the world carefully, I can tell. Probably trying to put fault on the nature of the fight, and not on my being afraid, that we should have to sit further away.

“That’s fine with me,” I respond, contently. I have been debating, since I saw the bar, whether or not I should ask Charlie if he drinks when he’s out. He isn’t twenty-one yet, and I’ll only be nineteen in a coupe of months, but I honestly wouldn’t mind having a drink right now, if it were possible.

I’ve never had a drink with the intent of calming myself; I rarely drink at all. I would feel more justified if I knew that we were going out somewhere after this, and not just back to our room.

Moments after Charlie and I sit down at one of the high, round tables in front of the bar, I hear Gabe’s voice coming from behind me, “Hey, you both made it!”

I turn over my shoulder and smile at him as he makes his way to the table and takes a seat.

Charlie and I have sat exactly across from each other, but Gabe is now sitting close to me, and I see that he has a glass bottle of beer.

I tell him hello and we start talking casually. Charlie stays quiet, looking about the venue.

“So, how old are you? And I guess you’re not fighting tonight?” I ask Gabe, wondering who I’ll be watching, and feeling a little thankful that I probably won’t know them personally.

“I just turned eighteen last week. I’m still in high school. I’m a football player. Since I’m a senior, it’s a pretty important season. I’m just training in boxing right now, no fights for me. I can’t be injured,” He smiles a wide, almost goofy grin and takes a sip from his beer.

“I see you’re still celebrating your birthday then,” I say, nodding towards the bottle tipped in his mouth, “You’re lucky that you look older than eighteen. Do they not really card people here?”

“Every day is a celebration, Stella. And no, they don’t really. The place never gets to wild, ironically, so they aren’t as careful as others. Besides, one beer won’t hurt this kid. The owners and workers see me here all the time, and know how composed I am,” He winks at me.

Just as he’s finishing his beer, a waitress appears and asks us if we’d like anything.

Gabe speaks for our table, “One more for me please, and I’m buying her one, too.”

Gabe turns to me, while the waitress waits for more, “I usually buy Charlie drinks, but you’re cuter.”

I laugh, and I know that Gabe has completely innocent intentions.

“I’ll just have a coke for now,” Charlie says, shifting so that he can pull his wallet from his jeans, “But could you start a tab, please? In case we want something else.”

The waitress nods and leaves the table. I am almost frustrated when Charlie says “we,” because I realize that he probably isn’t going to let me pay him for anything that I order tonight. He’s already bought me lunch and dinner today, and paid the cover charge here. I know that he has a bit more money than I do, but he still shouldn’t be spending so much on me.

While we wait for our drinks, I ask Gabe about football, and what he plans to do for school.

“Some schools have shown interest, sure. I’m still really on the fence about where I want to end up though, and a lot of it will have to do with what school has the best programs for pre-law students. I want to be an attorney.”

I could see Gabe as an attorney. He is well spoken and charismatic, particularly for a high school senior. He seems like someone who isn’t afraid to take initiative, and he doesn’t hold back.

“That’s great that you have other interests. Do you know what kind of law you want to go into? I don’t know much about the field.”

“My dad’s been a lawyer for businesses and corporations for as long as I can remember. I think what he does is interesting, but I’m open to other things too. I don’t feel like I have to plan too much for now,” He smiles again, humoring himself with his own optimism, as the waitress appears with our drinks.

“This is the best beer you will ever have, Stella, and this is the only place in Charleston that serves it.”

As I open the bottle, I look down at the label, but I don’t recognize the name. I take a sip, considering the taste.

“That is really good,” I say, looking back at Gabe, “You didn’t have to buy this for me, though. Thank you.”

I look at Charlie who is staring at me from across the table. His large, deep eyes are content and the corners of his lips are barely upturned. We don’t speak for a few seconds, we just hold eye contact, and I feel Gabe stare for a moment and then look quickly away from us.

“Do you want some of this?” I ask finally, pushing my bottle closer to him.

“No, I’m alright thank you,” He smiles more distinctly at me as he brings his coke glass to his lips, taking a drink.

“Charlie?” I hear a man’s voice and look up to see the utterer walking towards our table. He is wearing all black: a loose, sleeveless shirt and jeans. He has tattoos everywhere, in all different colors of ink. He has long, dark brown hair that hangs past his jaw. His hair isn’t too thick though, making his ears visible and revealing a piercing. His lip is pierced, too.

Charlie turns to face him, “Hello,” He says, enthusiastically, “How have you been? I didn’t expect to see you here. Do you come here often now?”

The man sits down beside Charlie, at the only chair left while he speaks.

“I was actually just meeting a friend for a drink. He's a regular, but I'm not here too often. You should have told me you were in town! What are your plans after this? I’m meeting friends at a club near here, you should stop by.”

“Oh I don’t know if we’re – “ Charlie starts to say something in response, but the man cuts him off when he looks at me.

“Who is this?” He eyes me with an impish grin on his narrow mouth.

“This is Stella,” Charlie says, and he introduces Gabe too, even though the man rudely ignores him.

“Stella,” he says, “That’s a beautiful name.”

He pauses to stare at me, and I stay silent. I notice Charlie giving me his focused frown out of the corner of my eye.

“I’m Brock,” the man continues, “Charlie and I went to school together in Savannah. I was a bit older though. His mentor – if you will.”

He elbows Charlie and smirks at him. Charlie looks a bit uncomfortable.

“Oh,” I nod and smile politely, “It’s nice to meet you.”

He chuckles and licks the corner of his lips, “Nice to meet you too, princess.”

He says it somewhat condescendingly, and I wonder if he is just the type to reject social niceties.

“They’re about to start,” Charlie says, looking towards the ring.

“I should probably go,” Brock says, standing up, “You two really should stop by later though.”

I start to ignore him and look away while he says goodbye. He tells Charlie the name of the club, but Charlie responds passively.

The fight starts within minutes and Gabe tells us that he is going to move closer and sit with a few of his other friends that he’s spotted, leaving Charlie and I alone.

Charlie moves from his seat across from me and replaces Gabe.

The waitress appears again, and asks us if we would like anything else. Charlie looks at me, and without thinking much, I ask, “Could I have a vodka cranberry, with a splash of 7-Up?”

She nods, and I look to Charlie, “You don’t mind, do you?” I bite my lip and smile.

He laughs, “Do I mind that you’re drinking? No baby, not at all.”

He takes his large hand and lays it in my lap, his palm facing up, and I put my small hand in his.

Watching the fight is not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. The two men fighting, neither of whom I know, are both deeply focused the entire time. As I watch them, I realize that boxing isn’t the scrappy, brutal charade that I feared it would be. The boxers absolutely treat it like a sport – an art even.

From where the ring is, Charlie sits behind me, both of us turned slightly sideways in our chairs. His hand still rests in my lap, my own in his, and I wonder if he is watching the boxers or just watching me.

“I can see you doing this now, I get it,” I say, turning slightly over my shoulder, but keeping my eyes on the ring.

“Why’s that?” Charlie asks, probably afraid that I’m implying something bad.

I reach for my drink and take another sip before I answer him; it’s a rather strong vodka cranberry, but I still like the taste and coldness of it.

“Because I see that it it’s tactical. You can be careful and be very good at it still. It’s not bedlam, and the object isn’t to hurt. I should have tried harder to understand. I’m sorry.”

Charlie squeezes my hand in his and quickly kisses my bare shoulder, “Don’t be sorry, Stella.”

The only thing that I find unsettling about the entire scene is the people who are cheering loudly and roughly – some being very vulgar and frank. I’m glad that Charlie watches rather quietly, and I don’t bother to wonder if he is only like this because I’m here – he simply doesn’t seem like the screaming, cheering type.

After the fight, Gabe finds us and tells us that he is going out with a couple of friends.

“Come! Both of you!” He says, “Charlie, you know at least two of the guys, and we aren’t going anywhere that you would need an ID. It will be fun.”

Charlie isn’t as hesitant as before, with Brock, and he asks me quietly if I want to go for a while. I agree and Gabe tells us that he is just going to say goodbye to one of the boxers that he knows, and then he’ll meet us outside.

Charlie and I stand in the cool night, the lights of the venue illuminate the area around the sidewalk where we wait. At first, there is a crowd of people who exit, all walking in different directions. Charlie and I stand still, facing each other in the crowd.

“You’re sure you want to go? Again, I just want to do whatever you want to do.”

“I think this will be fun! Have you ever been out with Gabe before?”

“No, not Gabe.”

I remember then that he’s just turned eighteen, and I assume that’s why.

“Aren’t you glad that we came tonight?” I ask, looking up at Charlie.

The last of the crowd has cleared now. Rather than respond, Charlie reaches forward and pulls me to him by my waist, leaning down to kiss my lips as he does.

The kiss doesn’t last long, and he leans his cheek against mine, “So glad,” He whispers.

“Are you two ready?” Gabe asks, I look towards him quickly, as he emerges from the door onto the sidewalk, but Charlie keeps his face close to mine, watching me.

We follow Gabe and two of his friends to a bar just a couple of blocks away. The place is packed, but none of us mind because we’re able to find a good table, and the actual building is fairly spacious.

Gabe’s friends, whom Charlie also knows, are both very nice. One is called Smith, and the other’s name is Tommy. We all get along well, and the conversation comes naturally.

Even Charlie is drinking a bit now, and when all of our glasses are empty, he and Smith leave the table to get us more.

Tommy and Gabe start talking about football, since there is a game on a nearby television.

“Has Charlie told you how good he was at football, Stella?” Gabe asks, still looking over me, at the T.V.

“He said that he was offered a few scholarships. We haven’t talked much about it, I guess.”

“He’s too damn humble,” Tommy notes, “If I had the talent that he had, you’d know it before you even knew my name.”

“Someone must have been looking out for you when they lessened your skill level, making sure you weren’t even more of a pompous ass than you already are,” Gabe says, and Tommy laughs.

“Have you seen him play?” I ask Tommy.