Vigilant

“You look like the cat that caught the canary.”

“Not yet,” Ari said as she started back to her office. “But give me a couple weeks and we can talk.”

SIX

Just like the last time Ari arrived at the GYC, Keith stood behind the counter. Loud hip-hop music flowed from the gym and he nodded his head to the beat. She entered the lobby with a bagful of Curtis’s belongings. Since she hadn’t found much at his house, she’d stopped and purchased several other necessities to add to his small collection. At least enough to get through a week of school.

“Hi Keith,” she said, approaching the counter. “I need to drop these off for Curtis. Is he around?”

The boy jerked his thumb toward the gym. “He’s in the ring.”

Ari walked around the counter and almost dropped her bag. Keith was right—Curtis was in the boxing ring, fighting, or really, being beat up by another boy. He wore shorts and a tank top, and big boxing gloves weighed down his hands. A padded helmet covered his head. Even with the protection, blood dripped from his nose and he swayed on his feet.

“Curtis!” Ari yelled. He looked up. The distraction gave the other boy the chance to deliver a sharp, devastating blow to the head. Curtis fell against the ropes.

“Stop!” Ari cried, abandoning the bag on the floor. She ran across the gym and reached for the elastic ropes surrounding the ring. She never made it. Her body flung backwards and her heart seized. An unknown man pulled her back, his massive arms around her chest. For the second time that day, a slamming memory of the armed robbery jolted through her body.

“Get off!” she shrieked. She fought against the man, kicking his shins and scratching at his arms. Ari felt her shoes fly off her feet and her attacker placed her on the floor. He immediately began apologizing.

“It’s okay,” he said, holding his hands up. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

Ari took deep, heavy breaths. Her eyes darted from her attacker to Curtis, who had struggled to his feet. He and the other boy stared at her. Looking around the room, she realized several other boys across the gym had stopped their activities as well. “I’m not going to hurt you,” the man said again. She looked at his face and realized he meant no harm, but that didn’t stop the feeling of panic overtaking her body.

The man offered her his hand and she scrambled back. “Don’t touch me.”

“Ms. Grant?” she heard, and she spun. Mr. Davis ran toward her. “Are you okay?” He looked between Ari and The Hulk. “Peter, what happened?”

“She was about to jump in the ring and I stopped her. I was afraid she would get hurt,” Peter said.

Ari couldn’t stop staring at him. Enormous, bulging muscles, pulled taut at his shirt sleeves. She could even make out the outline of his solid chest through the material. His body was like a machine but his face, Ari realized, was gentle and sincere.

“I’m okay,” she said to Mr. Davis. “I just panicked.” She glanced over at the boys, taking in Curtis’s bloody nose.

“Pete, take the boys upstairs. It’s time for study period anyway,” Mr. Davis said, handing her the shoes she’d lost earlier. “Ms. Grant, will you come back to my office?”

“Of course.” Ari slipped her feet into her shoes, hopping on one foot and then the other. She gave The Hulk a small smile in apology. “That bag is for Curtis.”

Embarrassed by her breakdown, Ari walked away from the watchful eyes of the boys and followed Mr. Davis back to his office. He offered her a seat on his battere

d leather couch. “Give me a minute,” he said, before ducking back out of the room.

Ari had been in his office the week before, but not alone. She took the opportunity to calm down and to snoop. She ran a finger over the name plate on the desk that simply said “Davis.” The room held two other chairs and a wide, tidy desk. He had several decorative shelves, filled with books and trophies. Ari studied the framed photos that lined the walls—most in black and white. Several were urban scenes, places she recognized from around the city, all in motion. Cars, trains, lights. She squinted at the signature, a scribbled “D” in the corner.

A worn pair of boxing gloves hung on a hook next to the door. Ari felt the soft leather and inexplicably pressed her nose against them.

“Take the towels to the laundry and make sure you use bleach this time,” Mr. Davis directed someone in the hallway, before walking in. She dropped the gloves and leaped for the couch, bouncing a little in her hurry.

“Sorry about that,” he said, entering the room.

“Your office is bigger than mine,” she said, nonsensically.

“Perk of being the boss,” he said. He sat in one of the chairs. Struck again by his interesting look, she noted his Asian features including dark, almost black eyes. He wore his hair short, almost shaved bald, but he wasn’t going bald. She could see the thin layer of stubble covering his head. His nose slanted a little off-center, Ari assumed, from being hit by a fist, and a thin white scar cut through his dark eyebrows. The hickey under his ear had grown faint. She couldn’t tell how old he was, probably close to her age. She could see the lean, hard muscles under his thermal shirt. She’d felt those muscles before and the longing to do so again overwhelmed her.

Ari pointed to the name plate on the desk and said, “So can I drop the ‘Mr.’ now?”

That earned a smile and he nodded. “Everyone else does.”

“Thank you.”