Sparks in the Ring

The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time Owen and Jorie left the gym. The cool evening air was a welcome relief after the heat and sweat of training. Jorie stretched her arms above her head, groaning dramatically.

"My entire body is going to hate me tomorrow," she complained.

Owen smirked, adjusting the strap on his gym bag. "Pain builds character."

"Pretty sure it just builds resentment," Jorie shot back, but there was a playful edge to her voice.

They walked side by side down the quiet street, their footsteps echoing in the stillness. For a while, neither of them spoke. It wasn't an awkward silence, though—more like the kind of quiet that comes when two people are comfortable with each other.

"Do you always stay this late?" Jorie asked, breaking the silence.

Owen shrugged. "Sometimes. The gym's kind of... my place, you know? It's where everything makes sense."

Jorie glanced at him, her curiosity piqued. "You never talk about your life outside the gym. What do you do for fun? Any secret hobbies? Collect stamps, maybe?"

Owen chuckled. "Yeah, I'm a real stamp enthusiast. Can't get enough of those rare first editions."

Jorie grinned. "Okay, maybe not stamps. But seriously, what's your thing? Outside of boxing, I mean."

Owen hesitated, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I don't know. Haven't really had time to think about that stuff. Boxing takes up most of my time."

Jorie frowned, her steps slowing. "That can't be it. There's got to be something else that makes you happy."

Owen glanced at her, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. "What about you?" he countered. "What makes you happy?"

"Easy," Jorie said, a smile tugging at her lips. "Books, late-night snacks, and proving people wrong when they underestimate me."

Owen laughed. "Sounds about right. Especially that last one."

They reached the corner where their paths would split. Jorie hesitated, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Hey," she said suddenly, her voice softer. "Thanks for today. For putting up with me and not giving up."

Owen looked at her, his expression unreadable. "You're not so bad, Leonhart. For a rookie, anyway."

Jorie rolled her eyes, but her smile didn't fade. "High praise coming from you."

As she turned to leave, Owen called out, "Jorie!"

She stopped, looking back at him with a questioning gaze.

"Do you... want to grab something to eat?" he asked, his voice almost shy. "There's a diner a few blocks from here. Best milkshakes in town."

Jorie's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Are you... asking me out?"

Owen immediately backtracked, his cheeks turning red. "No! I mean, not like that. Just... you've got to eat, right? And I've got to eat. So why not... eat at the same place?"

Jorie's lips curved into a teasing smile. "Relax, Knight. I'll take your pity dinner. But only if you're paying."

Owen groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But don't order anything expensive."

"Deal," Jorie said, falling into step beside him.

The diner was warm and cozy, with retro booths and a jukebox humming softly in the corner. They slid into a booth, and a waitress handed them menus. Jorie immediately flipped to the dessert section.

"So," she said, glancing at Owen over the top of the menu. "What's the secret to these 'best milkshakes in town'?"

"They're just milkshakes, Leonhart. Don't overthink it," Owen replied, but his lips twitched into a small smile.

When their orders arrived—burgers and, of course, milkshakes—Jorie took a sip and let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Oh my God," she said, clutching her chest. "You weren't kidding. This is life-changing."

Owen rolled his eyes. "You're so dramatic."

"Admit it," Jorie said, pointing her straw at him. "You love it."

Owen smirked, shaking his head. "Yeah, maybe a little."

As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, shifting from teasing banter to surprisingly deep topics. Jorie talked about her dreams of becoming a journalist, while Owen opened up about the pressures of living up to his coach's expectations.

"I guess I just don't want to let anyone down," Owen admitted, his voice quieter now.

"You won't," Jorie said firmly. "You're not the type to quit, Owen. And for what it's worth, I think you're doing great."

Owen looked at her, his usual confident façade slipping. "Thanks, Jorie."

The way he said her name sent a flutter through her chest. She quickly looked down, stirring her milkshake to avoid his gaze.

As they walked home later that night, the air between them felt lighter, like the start of something neither of them could quite put into words.

"Same time tomorrow?" Owen asked as they reached Jorie's street.

"Wouldn't miss it," she replied, grinning.

As Jorie disappeared into her house, Owen stood there for a moment, staring at the door. A small smile tugged at his lips as he turned and walked away, the thought repeating in his head:

He was in trouble, and for once, he didn't mind.