Unwritten Rules of Love

The gym always smelled like sweat, iron, and adrenaline. Sasha Hartley leaned against the wall near the boxing ring, arms crossed, her long honey-brown hair twisted up in a lazy bun. A few curls had slipped loose, brushing her cheek. She didn’t care. The place was too hot to worry about perfection. The sound of fists hitting pads echoed through the space, the slap of skin-on-skin contact so sharp it made her blink. Fighters grunted. Metal clanked. The place was alive, a controlled kind of chaos. But she wasn’t watching the others. She was watching him. Jace Maddox moved like a storm. Shirt off, skin slick with sweat, muscles cut deep across his back as he dodged, twisted, and threw another brutal punch. The bag swung, snapped back, and he caught it like it owed him something. His jaw clenched. His dark hair clung to his forehead. And every inch of him screamed one thing. Danger. But God, he was beautiful. Six-foot-two. Lean, strong frame. That sharp V-cut below his abs. Tattoos inked down both arms—black lines, messy but somehow perfect. His eyes were a deep, dangerous brown, always focused, always intense. And when he smirked? Girls didn’t walk past the gym—they came just to watch. Sasha should’ve looked away. But she didn’t. He caught her staring. Again. And smirked. She flushed. Instantly. Her cheeks burned, and she quickly looked at her phone like she hadn’t just been caught drooling. “You checking the time or checking me out?” Jace’s voice was low, rough with amusement. He didn’t stop moving, didn’t stop training. He just kept throwing punches like he wasn’t casually teasing her between combinations. She rolled her eyes without looking up. “Not everything is about you, Maddox.” “Sure it’s not.” Another punch. Another grin. “You’ve been leaning there for ten minutes. Watching me.” “I was timing your sets.” “You don’t even have a timer.” He had a point. Sasha shifted, pretending to text someone. Her heart was doing that stupid thing again—fluttering against her ribs like it didn’t know better. He made it worse when he took a break, ripped off his gloves, and walked toward her. Bare chest. Broad shoulders. Full confidence. Her stomach flipped. “You know your dad would kill me if he saw me talking to you like this,” Jace said, grabbing a towel from the bench. “That’s exactly why you’re doing it.” He grinned, teeth white against the curve of his lips. “Maybe.” Coach Hartley had two rules: Don’t date fighters. And don’t date fighters. He’d built the gym from the ground up. He ran it like a military base. And Sasha? She was off-limits. The one girl no one could touch. But Jace? He’d never been good with rules. “You shouldn’t flirt with me,” she said quietly, watching him wipe sweat from his neck. “You shouldn’t stare.” “I wasn’t staring.” “You were.” His voice dipped. His eyes locked on hers. “But I don’t mind.” Sasha’s throat went dry. This was dangerous. Stupid, even. But something about the way he looked at her made her forget everything else. “I’m here for work, Jace.” “Then work,” he said, brushing past her—close enough that his shoulder grazed hers. “But you’re gonna keep looking.” He left her there, heart pounding, lips parted, fingers clenched around her phone like it might stop her from grabbing his stupid perfect face and— “Sasha!” She blinked hard. Coach Hartley’s voice cut through the heat like cold water. He stood at the edge of the mat, clipboard in hand, eyes sharp under his gray ball cap. He was tall, broad, and built like he could still fight—though he hadn’t stepped into the ring in years. “Yes?” she called back, straightening. “You check the inventory yet?” “About to.” He nodded once, but his eyes narrowed as they flicked toward Jace—now back on the bag, punching like nothing happened. She pretended not to notice. Ten minutes later, she was behind the front desk, flipping through supply lists she didn’t care about, replaying that look Jace gave her in her head like a song she couldn’t get out of her system. It wasn’t the first time they’d flirted. But today had felt different. More electric. More dangerous. She didn’t even notice him walk up until he leaned over the desk. “Inventory?” he asked, glancing at the papers. “Sounds fun.” “You’re still here?” He grinned. “You’re still pretending you don’t like me?” She stared at him. Up close, Jace was too much. His skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat, his jaw sharp enough to cut through her willpower. His lips were curved, playful. But his eyes—God, those eyes—were all heat. “I don’t like rule-breakers.” “Liar.” “I’m not interested in gym gossip.” “Good thing no one would believe it.” She hated how fast her pulse jumped. Hated how much she didn’t want him to leave. “You should go shower,” she said, voice flat. “Why?” “Because your abs are distracting me.” He blinked. Then laughed. A low, husky sound that curled around her spine. “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said all day.” He turned to leave. And then paused, halfway out the door. He didn’t look back—just said, “You know where to find me.” Then he was gone. That night, Sasha lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She should’ve shut it down. He was off-limits. Her dad would flip if he ever found out. But still. She could feel the tension in her chest. The ache behind her ribs. Like she’d swallowed something too sharp and too sweet at the same time. Her phone buzzed. Jace Maddox: Still thinking about my abs? She stared at the screen. Smiled. Didn’t reply. But her fingers hovered. Typing. Deleting. Typing again. Before she could send anything, another text came through. Jace Maddox: I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.