“Better than any fucking elliptical machine, am I right?”

Already outside of the ring, I’m still reeling from that jab straight to my jaw. Since when is Tad so fucking good at feinting?

Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to dedicate to becoming as good as I’d like at the sweet science of punching another dude’s face at a sweaty-ass gym. Right now, I’m sweaty and rubbing my jaw.

Tad is correct—this shit beats an elliptical machine any fucking day of the week.

“Yeah, great cardio, and all for the cost of a few massive blows to my skull and a bit of potential brain damage. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I grin.

Tad is wearing a derisive smirk, and I have to laugh. Like me, he appreciates a bit of good-natured sparring outside the ring as well as inside.

“I’d say that brain damage is nothing new for you, friend. Nobody should be that easy to feint.”

“You may just have yourself a point there, Tad. And if I don’t have the intellect for sparring, I probably need to rethink a lot of things.”

Tad laughs loud and hard enough to drown out the sound of KFOG blasting through the gym PA. Even the lifters stop their grunts and dumbbell dropping for a moment. I chuckle despite my best efforts.

“Contagious laughter. I don’t like catching it,” I say.

I’m not making much sense, and I’m not sure whether it’s from the punches to my headgear or from actual nerves about this afternoon. Since when the fuck am I nervous about anything?

Tad’s looking at me strange, and not just because of my off comment. He can tell there’s something up.

Fuck.

“Do you want to grab a sports drink from the fridge? On me.”

For the first time in what may be years, I look over at the ridiculous locked commercial refrigerator. There are dozens of multicolored bottles visible through the glass door.

Those bottles are vintage at this point. Tad would probably be the first person to buy a drink from there since the nineties.

“You know I don’t go for that sugar-water shit.”

I know Tad’s trying to help, but he seems to think there’s something wrong. He’s way off about that. This barbecue is a big fucking deal, but in the best way possible.

I have to explain myself so Tad can stop the inquisition. We only have time for one or two more rounds, and I don’t want to waste it.

“Regular water then, or a seat on the bench, at the very least. Come on, man. You look like you need a break. Nothing’s wrong with that.”

I sit down on the bench just behind us and take a swig from my reusable water bottle that must’ve slipped Tad’s notice.

“Happy now?”

Tad sits down next to me and gives me a look. Jesus Christ, this really is going to be a production, isn’t it?

“Are you? I’m not sure what’s going on with you, Kirk. Is it good? Do you need to talk about it?”

Why do people keep asking me if things are good? It’s meaningless to me, but Tad means well. I try to keep my cool.

“Yes, it’s good. It’s very, very good, in fact. I’m having a barbecue later.”

“Oh, okay, that is…good. I guess.” He gives me a look like I’ve lost my fucking mind. I think I may have. “But what else?”

This motherfucker’s relentless. But whatever, I have nothing to hide.

“My parents are coming.”

Tad shrugs and nods slightly. This is the end of it. I hope.

“Okay. Who else?”

I don’t know how much Tad’s figured out by now, but I have to give the dude props—I respect his tenacity to pry out the truth.

“Emily. She’ll meet my parents, my family. This is the first time I’ve ever looked forward to something like this.”

And…nothing. Tad’s got his fucking poker face on.

All I want to do is get back to boxing, not have this conversation right now. But if he wants to talk about the most important thing in my life at the moment, it looks like that’s what we’re fucking talking about.

“How long have you known this girl?”

This question would normally annoy the fuck out of me because Tad already knows the answer—and also because it’s irrelevant.

Right now, the question annoys me because the gall of Tad or anyone else referring to Emily as this girl is enough to drive me fucking insane. Seriously?

Luckily, even in this testosterone-laden gym full of punching and grunting, I’m able to calm the fuck down when I think about Tad’s point of view. His heart is in the right place.

“A couple weeks. Why should that matter?”

“You sure you’re not getting this backward? For me, at least, it’s good to hold off on the whole ‘meeting the parents’ thing until I get to know someone.”

Tad’s still right next to me on the bench, making eye contact and listening carefully. I need to take this opportunity to make things clear.

“I already know Emily. I know her better than you can realize, and I know her in ways I can’t even describe. I also know her in some ways I can describe easily. For example, she makes a living as a romance author.”

“Interesting. Why are you bringing that up now?”

“Because it means that she takes this shit seriously. She gets it—this whole ‘meeting the parents’ business. This is important for her, and it’s important for me.”

Tad gives me that nod again. It’s slightly more believable this time, but not by much.

“I think I’ll have one of those drinks myself,” Tad deadpans. I hope like hell he’s joking. He starts to stand up.

“No! Tad, don’t do it! Think of your family!”

I don’t even see the trace of a smile as Tad retakes his seat. He can be ice-cold when it comes to jokes, but Tad’s trying to be warm right now. He’s just looking out for me, misguided as he may be, and before we step back into the ring, I’m determined to convince him of that.

“Sounds like it’ll be a great barbecue.” Tad’s now eyeing the ring again. His focus is switching back to the task at hand, and we’ve got a couple more rounds before the workout is done.

“Emily can charm the shit out of anyone. I can’t wait for her to meet my family,” I tell him.

I don’t see Tad’s face as he reacts to this, since he’s already putting his gloves back on and striding toward the ring. I get up and follow him, mentally preparing myself for a few more punches.

“It’s about more than just your parents, Kirk. You may not like what they have to say, and you’re a grown-ass man.”

There’s no way that my parents won’t be floored by Emily. They’ll fucking love her.

On the other hand, Tad is right about one thing—this is about more than just my family. I want Emily to be part of my life, and that includes both family and friends.

But I’ll also admit that I’ve been thinking a few more people at the party might make things easier, reduce the chances for awkwardness.

“Hey, Tad?”

Tad doesn’t stop, slow down, or even look at me.

“Fuck yeah.”

“What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“Fuck yeah, Kirk. I’ll go to your fucking barbecue, man.”

This fucker must have ESP. It’s the only explanation.

“Bring as many people as you can, but only people I know. No random motherfuckers.” I do my best to deliver these instructions plainly as Tad climbs back into the ring, but he’s already moved on.

He’s ready to start punching again. And so am I.