Page 34 of On the Ropes
She tilted her head. “It was all I thought about, even if I was just writing up articles about the yearbook club or new football mascot designs. I managed to grin and bear it through cheerleading for three years and never, ever admitted it to my dad. His heart was very…fragile at that time. I didn’t want to put any extra pressure on it.”
I watched Tabitha yank weeds and trash with her usual exuberant energy, dancing around like this was a regular morning hangout between friends. And I wondered about a person who seemed so open—about life and her wants and her feelings—but had lied to her family about her own happiness just to keep them smiling.
“Would you ever tell him the truth?” I asked.
She hesitated, mid-motion. Then she shook her head. “Probably not. The guy still has every picture and trophy up in a dusty glass case in our house, right next to the pride flag he’s been hanging out the second-story window every June since the year I came out. Seems pointless now, doesn’t it?”
I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my arm. “I know what you mean. And I’ve been there. Sometimes it’s harder telling people the truth if they’ve already got this idea about you in their head.”
Some of the tension left her shoulders. “It really is.” She hauled a large tangle of weeds into the bag. “Remember how we walked to high school together twice a week?”
“Wednesdays and Thursdays,” I said, then turned away, feeling too eager.
“Yes. Because Tuesday night, you, me, and Rowan were all in different practices for our various sports. And I have such a strong memory of us comparing weekly injuries as we walked—or limped—in our sweats to class. Didn’t you show up to a support group meeting once with a black eye?”
I rubbed the back of my head. “Probably. In my early training days if I didn’t work the speed bag right, it’d smack me in the face. It’s not even a cool injury.”
She laughed good-naturedly. “Oh my God, one time I was holding pom poms, doing that clapping motion in front of my face at a football game. And I hit myself in the nose with my own fist so hard I got a nosebleed.”
“That’s a pretty hardcore injury, Tabitha.”
“Clearly”—she indicated her outfit—“I’ve always been a hardcore person. But I was always grumpy about doing splits and push-ups. You, on the other hand, seemed totally at peace after a grueling workout.”
I hooked my fingers into the top of the metal fence. “Boxing did that for me. I’m not very good with words. Moving my body, pushing it to its physical limit made me feel relaxed and comfortable. I like punching the hell out of things, I guess.”
Her face filled with more affection than I could handle. “I finally saw some videos of you punching the hell out of things. By things,I mean another dude’s face.”
I turned away from her to tackle a patch of weeds filled with soda bottles. “Oh yeah?”
“Oh yeah. You were amazing to watch, as I predicted,” she said, giving me another jolt of power. “Of course, you were joking the other night about me being your biggest fan, but now I’m wishing you still sold merch.”
I tossed a look over my shoulder. “You’re not serious.”
“I am. You can now refer to me as a Dean the Machine Superfan, thank you very much.”
It took every ounce of willpower in my body not to tell her how absurdly pleased it made me, that she’d seen me at my best. I heard a rustling sound behind me. Tabitha’s very pretty legs suddenly came into view. My hands curled into the weeds, gripping. Those instincts were urging me to do something stupid—lean forward, slide my palms around the back of her thighs, and kiss every inch of her skin until she was trembling for me.
She dropped to her knees, barely a foot away, and pushed those ridiculous glasses back into her hair. Eye contact this close gave me even more stupid ideas. Of slipping my fingers behind her neck. Pressing my mouth to hers. We were in an actual trash heap on a hot summer’s day, and she was that tempting.
“Seriously,” she said, “you were amazing to watch in that ring. I didn’t want you to think I was joking. I’m not.” She raised one dark eyebrow. “You’re also amazing now. And I like your words, neighbor. Just to be clear.” She stood back up before I had a chance to respond.
It was for the best. I was a little speechless.
When I finally hauled out the weeds, she was standing at the trash bag, holding it open for me. “Thanks. For what you said. I’m happy to know I have a—”
“Superfan.”
“Yeah. That.” I dropped the weeds in and took a step back, tugging off my gloves. “If you want merch, I can see if Rowan still has shirts lying around in the back of his trunk.”
“Ooh. Classy.”
I couldn’t help it. A gigantic smile spread across my face. The motion rattled all the locks on all the pieces of myself I kept hidden. She reached forward and squeezed my wrist. A completely friendly gesture. The pressure of her fingers on my skin, though, sent those late-night fantasies surging to the surface. When she turned away, I almost snatched her hand back.
A few seconds later, her face brightened as she was tying up the second bag. I followed her gaze to find Eddie, shuffling back down the block with Pam in his arms.
Tabitha pressed onto her tiptoes and called out over the fence, “Hey, how was the diner, Eddie?”
He responded with a thumbs-up. “Your father makes a biscuit that should be illegal, in my opinion. And he said to tell you to come by tomorrow night for his late shift. Bring your sister and Eric and your niece along.”
