Page 65 of On the Ropes
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it was. Even with what I just said, about concussions and injuries, I still felt like I had an identity. A place to be. Training like that, being that young was the most challenging thing I ever did. But I got it. I knew how to fight. I knew how to win. There weren’t a lot of gray areas or nuance. It was a lot more comfortable at the gym than in high school where I didn’t feel like I had a clue how to act.”
It made a certain kind of sense. I knew from our support groups what Dean had experienced—homophobia toward his family, bullying at school. He was shy, on the quieter side when we were growing up. I wasn’t naïve to the darker elements of having a social life in high school.
“I was happy that my weekends were busy with boxing,” he said. “Although I did miss out on things like hooking up in a car at the Phillies stadium parking lot during off-hours.”
We got out of the car and walked to the base of the art museum steps, the ones that became famous after Rocky. There were a couple of stray tourists taking pictures in front of the statue. But other than that, it was almost peacefully hushed. The air smelled sweetly of rain, storm clouds getting closer.
I gazed up at it like a mountaineer admiring a mythical peak. “I’m feeling pretty confident about my victory.” I leaned against the stone post and stretched one hamstring. “You gonna warm up?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
I shook my head. “Dean the Machine. Undone by his own hubris.”
His dark eyes were playful as they stared down at me. “You never said if you’d had any make-outs at the stadium. I’m assuming you had people lined up to escort you there in their cars.”
I scratched the top of my head. “I never did it either.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yep.” I smacked my lips together. “I thought it sounded so glamorous and adult when we were in school. The stadium parking lot. Where all the coolest kids had mediocre make-out sessions and then had to sneak back home after curfew.” I pulled my other leg into a stretch. “No heavy petting for me until I got to college. I had crushes on people for days, but whenever anyone asked me out, I said no. It wasn’t the best, being in the front row seat of my parents’ divorce. My sister eventually went off to Temple and lived on campus, so she missed a lot of the…” I cleared my throat. “More colorful details of living in a house where there’d been adultery and lies and a lot of hurt feelings. In hindsight, I was doing everything I could to avoid ending up like them.”
I clamped my mouth shut before I could spill any other vulnerabilities on this casual hang between two friends. The sincere kindness on his face almost had me spilling more, like tipping over a barrel of apples.
“It sounds like you were protecting your heart,” he said.
His words hung between us, charging the air with a seductive weight. There was something daring and dangerous about not being on Tenth Street. We were uptown, with nary a soul around, late at night. A rumble of thunder had the hair standing up on my arms. We both turned toward the sound as a glimmer of lightning appeared in the distance.
“Should we…?” Dean said.
“Yes,” I said, with too much cheer. “Absolutely, let’s do it.” Center City’s skyscrapers glittered behind us, and in front of us were the seventy-two steps leading to the museum’s entrance. “Are you going to set the scene for us? Like, what’s my motivation?”
I bent down in an approximation of what I’d seen sprinters do on TV. With a raspy laugh, Dean copied me. His body rippled with a confident, intoxicating strength even when still. I was sure he wasn’t even aware of it.
“I’m a down-on-his-luck boxer with one shot to make it big,” he said, voice low. “An underdog just like the city I’m from. I’m hungry for a win.”
There was more thunder, closer this time.
“You better not mess up,” I teased. “You’ve only got this one shot.”
His lips tipped up. “Don’t make me nervous, or I will.”
“I’ll try not to distract you.”
Desire flooded his features. A delicious shiver fluttered in my belly. Dean dipped his head tantalizingly close. When he exhaled, his breath whispered across my cheek. “Your motivation is that you’re the boxer’s new, mysterious neighbor.”
I arched a single eyebrow. “Sounds scandalous.”
He nodded. “You’re a filmmaker. You see beauty in everything, even if it’s hidden or hard to see.”
My head spun. His mouth hovered closer.
“Every day, you’ve been trying to get this boxer to live a little.”
Kiss me,I wanted to say. Kiss me, and I’ll show you how to live more than a little.
His lips brushed mine. Almost.
“And it’s working,” he whispered.
My toes curled in my running shoes. I nudged my nose against his, more than ready.
“Go,” he whispered.
