Sparks in the Ring

The next day, the gym was unusually quiet. Owen paced near the ring, his thoughts looping back to the moment Jorie kissed his cheek. It wasn't the kiss itself that unnerved him—it was the way it made him feel. Like he was on the verge of losing control, and for a boxer like him, control was everything.

The sound of the gym door creaking open snapped him out of his thoughts. Jorie walked in, her bag slung over her shoulder, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She looked casual, almost like nothing had happened yesterday. Almost.

"Hey," she said, her voice light but a little cautious.

"Hey," Owen replied, trying to sound nonchalant as he adjusted his gloves. "You're late."

"I had to finish a paper," Jorie explained, setting her bag down. "But don't worry, I'm ready to get back to work. What's on the agenda? Footwork? More punching drills?"

Owen hesitated. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the dynamic between them felt... different. Charged.

"Actually," he said, deciding to keep it professional, "we're working on defense today. You've got to learn how to block and counter if you're going to stand a chance in the ring."

Jorie nodded, stepping into the ring. "Blocking, huh? So basically, I just have to stop you from hitting me?"

"Pretty much." Owen smirked, pulling on a pair of training gloves. "Think you can handle it?"

Jorie rolled her shoulders, her confidence growing. "Try me."

Owen started slow, throwing soft jabs toward her gloves. She managed to block a few, but her timing was off. He stepped it up a notch, feinting with one hand and aiming a light jab with the other. Jorie yelped as it grazed her shoulder.

"Focus, Leonhart," Owen said, his voice firm but teasing. "You've got to watch my movements. Anticipate."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, resetting her stance. "Bring it."

They continued sparring, her blocks gradually improving. Owen couldn't help but notice how determined she looked, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips pressed into a stubborn line.

"Not bad," he admitted, stepping back for a moment.

"Not bad?" Jorie panted, glaring at him. "I'm a freaking ninja."

Owen snorted. "Ninjas don't trip over their own feet."

"Hey!" she protested, pointing a glove at him. "That only happened once!"

"And yet, here I am still laughing about it," he shot back, his grin widening.

Jorie lunged forward, aiming a wild punch at his shoulder—not part of the drill. Owen sidestepped easily, grabbing her wrist to stop her momentum.

"Careful," he said, his voice lower now. "You're getting reckless."

Jorie froze, realizing how close they were. His hand lingered on her wrist for just a moment too long, the heat from his touch sending a shiver down her spine.

"Or maybe I just like keeping you on your toes," she said softly, her eyes meeting his.

Owen's breath hitched. The playful banter was gone, replaced by something heavier, more intense. For a moment, the world outside the ring disappeared. It was just the two of them, caught in a moment neither had prepared for.

"You're trouble, Leonhart," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"And you're scared, Knight," she replied, a hint of a challenge in her tone.

He let go of her wrist, stepping back as if the distance could erase whatever had just passed between them.

"Break's over," Owen said abruptly, his tone sharper than he intended. "Back to work."

Jorie's expression faltered for a split second, but she quickly masked it with a smirk. "Fine. Let's see if you can keep up."

As they resumed training, Owen tried to focus on the drills, the movements, the rhythm of the sport. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that the real fight wasn't in the ring—it was in his heart.