Chapter 2

She huffed, and folded her arms under her chest. Half the room paid attention to the manoeuvre. “So how are you going to find some cute guy to draw for the portraiture assignment and start dating a literal model, then?” she demanded.

“I won’t,” Tab said shortly.

Because there was no way the model he had in mind was ever going to date him.

* * * *

Welcome to Grangefields Boxing and Martial Arts Gym.

This gym operates a strict no-harassment policy. Any student found using or displaying sexist, homophobic, racist, transphobic or ableist language or attitudes will be excluded with immediate effect.

All visitors must sign in at reception upon arrival.

If this door is locked between 8 A.M. and 7 P.M., ring bell at bottom of stairs.

Not that the bell worked. Or the door was locked between those hours. Or ever, really.

Grangefields was the enormous roof space of a converted warehouse, a mechanics’ garage underneath, and the roof space split into two-thirds for the gym, and the remaining third for the flat. The entire top floor was owned by Tab’s Uncle Eddie, but though Eddie ran the gym, Aunt JuliKate ran the flat. With an iron fist, decorated in ugly rings.

Tab had come to live with Uncle Eddie (and by default Aunt JuliKate) when he’d been accepted at the arts college. He’d escaped Loonyville, Mumshire (seriously, Mum had changed her name to Serenity Moonchild and used to go out on the full moon to dance naked around rocks and shit) to move in with Uncle Eddie, and not being woken at one in the morning to have his dreams analysed or join in an impromptu séance was a small price to pay for working in the gym. That had been Uncle Eddie’s offer. Man the reception desk, help out with the cleaning in the evening, and have a rent-free room in the flat.

And, really, what other choice had Tab had? He’d been only just sixteen, and Mum was…gone, really. The other option had been Nana, or some kind of scabby youth hostel for kids coming out of care, and fuck that, pardon his Klingon. So Uncle Eddie and the job it had been.

Tab didn’t really mind. The boxing students didn’t hang about and bother him, so he got to sit behind the desk and draw.

The door at the top of the stairs opened into a little lobby with a reception desk, walls covered in posters and framed awards, and a couple of sofas clustered in a corner, usually used by those who drove to the gym and needed to recover after one of Marcus’ bagwork classes. Off the lobby sprouted the changing rooms, the weights room, the training room, and the bag room. Tab was yet to work out why a boxing gym needed so many rooms, but then he’d rather visit the dentist for a root canal than box. Tab didn’t do contact sports. Or any sports more tiring than darts, really. Or darts. Darts involved pointy things…

It was Wednesday; the intermediate class was due to start in half an hour, so Tab went straight into the lobby rather than return to the flat. It was empty. Uncle Eddie was still finishing off with the beginners, and none of the intermediates had arrived—and Tab wasn’t going to risk missing them.

Hewas in the intermediate class.

If Tab liked going to art college and living with his (slightly) more sane aunt and uncle, then—actually—he loved his job. Not for the job itself. The job was boring, in all honesty. Uncle Eddie hated doing ‘that mundane crap’ and when Aunt JuliKate had started hormone replacement therapy, it had made her pretty sick for ages, so Tab had been given her old duties, pretty much. Which involved, ninety percent of the time, sitting behind a desk staring at the wall.

But he loved it. Because, not ten minutes after Tab arrived, he walked in.

Tab was tuned to this: the clink of the door as a boy with a black sports bag, dark blue jeans, and a zipped-up hooded sweatshirt ambled into the gym, pausing long enough to etch his signature onto the attendance sheet on the front desk, and then banging through to the changing rooms and totally ignoring Tab in the process.

Him

He had no name. Tab didn’t know his name, and giving him one seemed sacrilege. His name, whatever it was, would be perfect,and maybe just a little bit exotic, because he looked vaguely Italian (stocky and dark hair and eyebrows, though he shaved his head and he wasn’t greasy). But anyway. It wasn’t like they were ever going to talk. He might be the most gorgeous guy Tab had ever seen, and Tab most definitely had a crush a thousand miles wide on him, but…

But, well. Look at him. He was obviously, totally, one hundred percent, holy-shit-heterosexual, and given that he was like eighteen and an intermediate-level boxer and came to the extra fitness and bagwork classes on Thursday evenings, Tab was pretty sure that the mystery stunner could also kill people with his face. Especially gay people who had crushes on him.