Page 34 of Movers and Fakers

Her lips push to the side. She draws in a breath, then nods.

“All right. I’ll be there.”

Chapter seventeen

Too Close

Aurora Driscoll

If this were a horror movie, everyone in the theater would be yelling at me right about now. I didn’t tell any of my friends where I was going tonight. But I know I’ll be fine. Marigold and Jameson came to one of these fights before, and the worst thing that happened was they got kicked out. If it were unsafe, people wouldn’t show up every week.

Maybe.

Probably.

My hands clench in the sleeves of my sweatshirt. I’ve heard people dress up for these things, but when I texted Hayes, he told me to wear whatever I’d be most comfortable in. So, baggy sweats made the most sense. I’m not sure if it will draw more or less attention to me. As Hayes has pointed out more than once, the ship of being unnoticed has sailed away, and I’m stuck on land with him.

I approach the frat house where the fight is being hosted and try to extinguish the nerves burning in my stomach. A group of two guys and two girls walks through the door into the darkened house, talking quietly. I slip in behind them and follow them down a path of electric lanterns and a set of stairs. The house is silent aside from our footsteps.

At the bottom of the staircase beneath a singular hanging light bulb is a burly guard holding a metal detector. His scowl is as menacing as his muscles.

“Password,” he grunts.

One of the girls whispers something I can’t make out. My pulse skyrockets. Password? Hayes didn’t say anything about that. I touch my phone in the pocket of my sweats. Should I try to call him? I shake my head and let out a slow breath. He said the bouncer would know me. There’s no point in him lying.

Another group of people stop a few stairs above me to wait. The guard rattles off a few rules that I’m too nervous to listen to and then welcomes the students ahead of me inside. I warily take their place.

“Password.”

“Oh, um, I’m with Hayes,” I stutter out.

The guard raises a thick brow. I’m sure he’s heard that before.

“Aurora, my name’s Aurora Driscoll,” I quickly add.

Recognition lights in his eyes. He reaches for the door.

“Welcome to the Shadow Ring, Miss Driscoll.”

The door opens with no rules given. He doesn’t use the metal detector on me or ask for my phone.

“Thank you,” I murmur, and rush inside, feeling the stares of everyone waiting behind me.

As soon as I’m inside, the sensation of being watched triples. Curious eyes follow my every step. Everyone is dressed like they’re headed to the theater, not a boxing match. I might as well have worn a giant neon sign around my neck that flashes the words I don’t belong here in a rainbow of colors.

Drinks are served in delicate glassware. Hors d'oeuvres are plucked off gleaming silver trays delivered by servers in black formal wear. There’s a boxing ring in the center of the velvet-draped room, lit by a chandelier. How did they even install that down here? They move from house to house each week, so it’s not like it’s a permanent fixture. I suppose money makes things like that possible.

I search the crowd for Hayes, wondering if I’ll see him before his fight. Besides asking him what I should wear and when to show up, I didn’t get any more details. To ask if I’d get to talk to him felt too much like something a real girlfriend would do.

Not seeing him, I retreat to the edge of the room, hoping to be left alone. My hopes are quickly dashed, though, when a man I don’t recognize approaches me.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” he says before taking a sip of the brown liquid in his short glass.

Unlike the other men in suits, he’s wearing shorts and a white T-shirt. There’s a faint splash of green on his cheekbone, evidence of a past fight. He must be one of the boxers tonight.

“It’s my first time here,” I reply, feeling unsettled but unsure of what to do.

He smirks like my words are an invitation to something. I cross my arms over my chest like a shield.