Jaxon pushed off the wall, finally stepping forward as Hayley launched a sharp high kick into the bag. His brows lifted.
     Okay, damn.
     She wasn't just swinging stress at that thing — she was skilled. Controlled. That kick was clean, precise, and way too high for someone who "just worked out a little."
     He crossed the gym slowly, watching her as she moved into another set of combinations — jab, jab, cross, and another powerful kick that echoed through the room. She still hadn't noticed him.
     Until he said, "Impressive."
     Hayley jerked, startled — spinning around with her fists still up, eyes wide and headphones hanging slightly off one ear.
     Jaxon raised both hands quickly. "Hey—hey. Didn't mean to scare you."
     She exhaled sharply, pulling her headphones off. "You didn't scare me."
     He smirked. "Sure. You just nearly punched the air into next week."
     She rolled her eyes, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. "What are you doing here?"
     "Gym. You know, the place where people train, sweat, occasionally get humbled."
     He took a few more steps, stopping just a few feet away now. "You're actually good. That bag looks like it owes you money."
     She raised a brow, trying not to let the surprise show on her face. "You're gonna critique my technique now?"
     "Not critique," he said, raising a palm up in front of her. "Test it."
     She blinked. "What?"
     "Come on," he nodded at his hand, eyes glinting. "Hit me."
     She stared at him. "Seriously?"
     He shrugged, deadpan. "Unless you're scared."
     Hayley snorted, stepping closer. "Please. I could kick your ass."
     Jaxon's grin widened. "Then prove it."
     Without hesitation, she threw a punch toward his palm — fast, strong. But just as she shifted weight into the second strike, he moved.
     In one smooth motion, he caught her wrist, pivoted around her, and had her back to his chest, arm pinned gently but firmly.
     "See?" he murmured by her ear. "Way too open on that left side."
     Hayley froze for a second — not because she was afraid or caught off guard. But because... damn it.

Of course he moved like that. Smooth, confident, like this wasn't even effort for him. Her breath caught in her throat — not from the hold, but from how easy it had all happened.
     His arm was around her, holding her in place, firm and secure, but not rough. Not threatening. He didn't need to use strength. He was just... good. Too good.
     She could feel his breath at her ear, and the heat of his body behind her, steady and calm — while her pulse decided to absolutely betray her.
     He let go slowly, stepping back, hands raised again like he was innocent in all this.
     "Not bad though," he added casually, as if he hadn't just taken control of her entire body in under a second.
     Hayley turned, trying to hide the mix of surprise, frustration, and something else brewing beneath her skin.
     "I wasn't ready."
     He tilted his head. "You said you could beat me. No warmups in street fights, Plant Girl."
     She narrowed her eyes at the nickname but refused to bite. "One day, I will kick your ass."
     Jaxon grinned. "Looking forward to it."

Hayley turned back to the punching bag, brushing damp hair from her face. She rolled her shoulders, bounced on her heels, and threw another sharp kick into the bag. It landed with a satisfying thud, but something had shifted. The moment Jaxon walked in, the energy in the room changed — and she hated that it affected her.
     He didn't leave.
     Instead, he moved casually toward the treadmills, tossing a towel around his neck before hopping onto one like he had all the time in the world. He started running, steady and relaxed, like he wasn't watching her — but she knew he was. Even without looking, she felt it.
     She hit the bag again, then again. But her rhythm had broken. Her focus wavered. She could still hear her music pounding in her ears through her headphones, but now it sounded distant. She could hear the soft whir of the treadmill. His footsteps. His breath.
     Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance her way, and then —
     "You know you should be wearing gloves for that, right?" he said, voice loud enough to cut through the music but not mocking.
     Hayley didn't turn. "I'm fine."
     "You say that now," he muttered with a small shake of his head, then returned to his run.
     She bit back the urge to snap at him. He's just being annoying. Let it go.
     Still, her knuckles were already red and stinging slightly — but she wasn't about to give him that satisfaction.
     Jaxon eventually slowed to a walk, then stepped off the treadmill and headed toward the weights. He grabbed a pair of dumbbells and started clean, efficient reps — nothing showy, just smooth, practiced motion.
     Hayley tried to ignore him. She threw another set of kicks, but they landed awkwardly. The precision she'd had earlier was gone. She was too aware of everything now — the heat in the room, the ache in her arms, the feeling of being watched.
     Her breathing quickened, not from exertion but irritation.
     Why did he have to stay?
     Why did he even care if she wore gloves or not?
     She landed one more strike and then stepped back, panting lightly. Her hands stung. Her mind spun. She grabbed her water bottle and took a sip, trying to reset.
     When she glanced over again, Jaxon was watching her between sets.
     Not smirking. Just... watching. Calm. Present.
     She turned away.
     Get it together, Hayley, she told herself. He's just a guy. Just another employee. This is your space too.
     But somehow, even when he said nothing, he made her feel like she was under a spotlight.

Hayley's body was running on autopilot now — fists pounding against the bag, the thud of impact echoing through the empty gym. She pivoted, exhaled sharply, and sent another kick flying.
     But her focus had slipped. Her muscles were too tight, too tired.
     Her foot struck the bag at the wrong angle — too low, too hard — and the force bounced back awkwardly. Her balance shifted sharply, her ankle twisting slightly beneath her. She staggered back with a small gasp, arms flailing to steady herself.
     She didn't fall — but it was close. Too close.
     "Shit—Hayley!"
     Jaxon's voice cut through the space just before his footsteps did.
     She looked up as he rushed over, already reaching for her, steadying her by the arm and waist.
     "You alright?" His eyes scanned her quickly, brows pulled together.
     "I didn't fall," she said quickly, voice tight.
     "No, but you almost did," he replied, not letting go just yet. "Could've hit your head."
     "I'm fine," she insisted, brushing him off with a bit more force this time. "Seriously."
     He didn't move far — just gave her space while still watching closely.
     "I told you," he muttered, glancing down at her knuckles. "No gloves."
     She ignored him, but the sting in her hands made her wince anyway.
     "You keep this up and you're gonna leave here with more bruises than pride."
     "I said I'm fine," she repeated, not meeting his eyes.
     Jaxon ran a hand through his hair, stepping back but not away. "You know there are easier ways to process your feelings, right? Like... screaming into a pillow. Or sarcasm. I can teach you."
     That earned the smallest flicker of a smile from her — but it faded fast.
     He watched her for another second, then sighed. "I'll be over there. Try not to faceplant while I'm gone."
     And with that, he gave her a final look — equal parts teasing and protective — before walking back toward the weights.

Hayley stood still for a moment, staring at the punching bag like it had betrayed her.
     Her pulse was still racing, and her hands throbbed — knuckles reddened and raw from hitting without protection. The moment Jaxon walked away, a wave of embarrassment washed over her. Not because she almost fell — but because she'd lost control. Again.
     Her chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. That was enough.
     She grabbed her water bottle, took a quick sip, and then turned on her heel without another glance toward the weights section.
     Jaxon didn't call after her. But she felt his eyes follow her all the same.
     She disappeared into the locker room, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft thud.
     The moment she was alone, she leaned back against the cool tile wall, closing her eyes. Her muscles were sore, her hands ached, and her pride stung just a little more than it should've.
     A hot shower sounded like heaven.
     She peeled off her gym clothes, wincing slightly at the tension in her shoulders, and turned the water on — cranking it up until the steam rose like a fog around her. As it poured over her, she let herself exhale.
     No noise. No punching bags. No teasing. No staring eyes.
     Just warmth, water, and a few minutes of silence to gather the pieces.

Jaxon stayed behind, finishing off the last few reps at the bench press, but his focus was long gone.
     The punching bag still swayed gently in the corner where Hayley had been. His eyes drifted toward it between sets, remembering the way she'd hit it — raw, fast, all bottled energy and emotion. She'd been good. Not trained-good, but driven. Angry. Wired.
     And now she was gone — slipped into the locker room without a word, soaked in sweat and frustration.
     Jaxon exhaled slowly, racking the weights. He grabbed his towel, wiped his face, and slung it over his shoulder as he walked out. Liam was leaning casually near the vending machine outside, sipping an energy drink.
     "Took you long enough," Liam said, eyeing him.
     Jaxon didn't answer right away, just pulled out a drink of his own.
     "She's got something in her," he finally muttered.
     Liam raised a brow. "Hayley?"
     Jaxon nodded, unscrewing the cap. "That girl's holding it all in with duct tape and pure willpower. I thought she was gonna knock the bag off the chain earlier."
     "She good?"
     "Yeah." He hesitated. "No. I don't know."
     Liam let the silence hang for a few seconds. "You care."
     Jaxon gave him a flat look. "I don't not care."
     "Which for you," Liam grinned, "is basically full-blown emotional attachment."
     Jaxon didn't take the bait. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching people pass in the hallway beyond.
     "She doesn't talk much. Not really. She pushes hard. Hides it. And then she almost kicks her ankle out trying to punish that damn punching bag."
     "You thinking of stepping in?"
     "That's the problem," Jaxon muttered, rubbing his jaw. "I already did. Twice. And she just looks at me like she doesn't know whether to thank me or punch me."
     Liam smirked. "Classic beginning of a beautiful friendship."
     Jaxon didn't smile back this time. His gaze lingered on the hallway, the door Hayley had disappeared behind.
     "She's trying so hard to prove something. I just don't know to who."
  Liam was quiet for a beat, then shrugged. "Maybe you don't need to figure it out. Maybe you just be there. You're good at showing up."
     Jaxon blinked.
     Then, reluctantly: "That might be the most useful thing you've ever said."
     Liam raised his drink in mock salute. "Don't get used to it."

Hayley stood near the glass entrance, arms crossed, trying not to yawn. She'd thrown on her coat, makeup barely touched up, and now she waited. Alysa was running late, of course — probably still fixing her eyeliner and blasting music in the bathroom mirror. Classic.
     She checked the time again and sighed. The lobby buzzed with the usual Friday exodus. Laughter, keys jingling, people practically sprinting for the weekend.
     Then she heard them.
     Boots. Heavy ones.
     She glanced up just as Jaxon and Liam rounded the corner from the main hallway, duffle bags slung over their shoulders, looking entirely too pleased with themselves.
     Jaxon spotted her first. His grin widened instantly. "Well, well. Look who's still vertical after a full week."
     Hayley rolled her eyes. "Barely."
     Liam offered a wave. "Hey. You waiting for someone or just... soaking in fluorescent lighting?"
     "Waiting for Alysa," she said, shifting on her feet. "She texted like ten minutes ago saying 'five more minutes.' Which usually means fifteen."
     Jaxon tilted his head, mock-serious. "So this is what it looks like when a workaholic tries to socialize."
     She gave him a flat look. "Don't start."
     Before he could say more, Alysa practically skipped into view behind them, coat slung over one arm, a sparkle in her eye. "There you are! And look who you found," she added, stopping beside Hayley and giving the guys a quick once-over. "You boys joining us for drinks?"
     Hayley's eyes widened. "No—wait, what—"
     Alysa elbowed her playfully. "C'mon, it'll be fun!"
     Hayley muttered under her breath, "What are you doing?"
     Jaxon, of course, caught it. His smile twitched wider. "What's wrong, Hayley? Afraid we'll ruin your Friday vibe?"
     She glared at him. "You are the Friday vibe I was trying to avoid."
     Liam turned toward Jaxon. "Alright, well—have fun. I'm gonna head—"
     Jaxon immediately grabbed his arm, cutting him off. "You're coming."
     Liam blinked. "Wait, what? I—"
     "Come on," Jaxon said, clapping a firm hand on his back. "Moral support."
     "You don't need moral support to flirt—"
     "Great," Jaxon interrupted. "Then we're all set."
     Alysa was already leading the way toward the exit, Hayley trailing behind her with a mortified look. Jaxon fell into step beside her, smug.
     She side-eyed him. "You are impossible."
     He leaned in slightly, voice low and teasing. "You did say I'm the vibe."
     Hayley sighed through her nose, but her lips twitched anyway.
     This was going to be a long night.