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 battered 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.”
She waited for him to ask her for her first name but he didn’t. Instead he asked, “Do you want to talk about what happened out there?”
With the weirdness between them, she didn’t know how much she should share about herself, but at the same time felt she owed him an explanation for her freak-out. She took a deep breath and said, “I was in an armed robbery about two weeks ago. I think it may have bothered me more than I thought.”
His eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Did you get hurt?”
“No, I managed to stay out of the way,” she lied. “Until one of them—one of the guys came up behind me like that and the whole thing came rushing back like some kind of reflex kicked in.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But you got away safely?”
“I was lucky. They wanted money and I didn’t have any. They left me alone and I hid in a closet. I guess they thought
“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 battered 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.”
She waited for him to ask her for her first name but he didn’t. Instead he asked, “Do you want to talk about what happened out there?”
With the weirdness between them, she didn’t know how much she should share about herself, but at the same time felt she owed him an explanation for her freak-out. She took a deep breath and said, “I was in an armed robbery about two weeks ago. I think it may have bothered me more than I thought.”
His eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Did you get hurt?”
“No, I managed to stay out of the way,” she lied. “Until one of them—one of the guys came up behind me like that and the whole thing came rushing back like some kind of reflex kicked in.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But you got away safely?”
“I was lucky. They wanted money and I didn’t have any. They left me alone and I hid in a closet. I guess they thought
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