I rubbed the back of my head. “Probably. In my early training days if I didn’t work the speed bag right, it’d smack me in the face. It’s not even a cool injury.”

She laughed good-naturedly. “Oh my God, one time I was holding pom poms, doing that clapping motion in front of my face at a football game. And I hit myself in the nose with my own fist so hard I got a nosebleed.”

“That’s a pretty hardcore injury, Tabitha.”

“Clearly”—she indicated her outfit—“I’ve always been a hardcore person. But I was always grumpy about doing splits and push-ups. You, on the other hand, seemed totally at peace after a grueling workout.”

I hooked my fingers into the top of the metal fence. “Boxing did that for me. I’m not very good with words. Moving my body, pushing it to its physical limit made me feel relaxed and comfortable. I like punching the hell out of things, I guess.”

Her face filled with more affection than I could handle. “I finally saw some videos of you punching the hell out of things. By things, I mean another dude’s face.”

I turned away from her to tackle a patch of weeds filled with soda bottles. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah. You were amazing to watch, as I predicted,” she said, giving me another jolt of power. “Of course, you were joking the other night about me being your biggest fan, but now I’m wishing you still sold merch.”

I tossed a look over my shoulder. “You’re not serious.”

“I am. You can now refer to me as a Dean the Machine Superfan, thank you very much.”

It took every ounce of willpower in my body not to tell her how absurdly pleased it made me, that she’d seen me at my best. I heard a rustling sound behind me. Tabitha’s very pretty legs suddenly came into view. My hands curled into the weeds, gripping. Those instincts were urging me to do something stupid—lean forward, slide my palms around the back of her thighs, and kiss every inch of her skin until she was trembling for me.

She dropped to her knees, barely a foot away, and pushed those ridiculous glasses back into her hair. Eye contact this close gave me even more stupid ideas. Of slipping my fingers behind her neck. Pressing my mouth to hers. We were in an actual trash heap on a hot summer’s day, and she was that tempting.

“Seriously,” she said, “you were amazing to watch in that ring. I didn’t want you to think I was joking. I’m not.” She raised one dark eyebrow. “You’re also amazing now. And I like your words, neighbor. Just to be clear.” She stood back up before I had a chance to respond.

It was for the best. I was a little speechless.