The next few weeks passed in a blur of classes, training, and music sessions. Scarlet and I fell into a comfortable rhythm—catching up after the boxing gym, hanging out at the music club, and sharing random stories from our past. It wasn't anything overly dramatic or romantic, but it felt good. Easy.
One afternoon, I was heading out of the gym when I spotted Scarlet waiting near the entrance, scrolling through her phone. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, suddenly more self-conscious than usual.
"Hey," I greeted, trying not to sound too out of breath. "You waiting for someone?"
She looked up, smiling. "Yeah, you. Chris said you'd be here. Thought we could grab some food—if you're not too beat."
I nodded, trying to hide how much the idea excited me. "Food sounds good. Just give me a minute to clean up."
A quick shower later, I met Scarlet outside, jingling the keys to my Mustang. Her eyes widened when she saw the car.
"Is this yours?" she asked, almost disbelieving.
"Yeah," I replied with a grin. "It was my dad's. Fixed it up myself."
She walked around it, running a hand along the sleek black paint. "Impressive. Didn't know you were a car guy too."
I opened the passenger door for her. "Hop in. I'll show you what it can do."
Once we hit the main road, I pressed the gas, feeling the engine roar to life. The Mustang surged forward, and I could see Scarlet gripping the seat out of the corner of my eye.
"Whoa! You're not kidding," she said, laughing as we weaved through light traffic.
"Hold on," I warned as I took a sharp turn, the tires screeching as we drifted around the corner. The adrenaline hit me like a punch, but instead of fear, Scarlet looked thrilled.
"You really know how to handle this thing," she said, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
Just as I was about to respond, flashing lights appeared in the rearview mirror—a cop car. My jaw tightened, and I glanced at Scarlet, who seemed half-nervous, half-excited.
"You good?" I asked.
She smirked. "Think you can shake them?"
Challenge accepted. I slammed the gas pedal, speeding down the narrow side streets, cutting through alleys and barely missing parked cars. The cop car struggled to keep up as I made sharp turns, the Mustang's engine growling in protest but holding steady.
Scarlet held on, but I could tell she was enjoying the thrill just as much as I was. One last turn, and we pulled into an abandoned lot, killing the headlights. We sat there, catching our breath, while the sirens faded into the distance.
"That was insane!" Scarlet exclaimed, eyes wide.
I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Nothing I can't handle."
She laughed, still buzzing from the rush. "You're full of surprises, Max."
When the coast was clear, I pulled back onto the road, driving much slower this time. We reached the campus café, and Scarlet ordered a smoothie while I went with a burger. We found a spot by the window and tried to act like the little chase hadn't just happened.
"So," she started, taking a sip of her drink, "I didn't know you had a music background. You seem pretty comfortable with the guitar."
I shrugged. "Picked it up when I was younger. Just something to keep me busy. My old man used to play too—said it was good for building focus."
Scarlet's eyes softened. "That's nice. Did he teach you?"
"Some of it," I said, my voice a little quieter. "But mostly, I figured things out on my own after he passed."
Her expression shifted, sympathy flickering across her face. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright," I replied quickly, not wanting to dampen the mood. "It's been a while. Boxing kind of filled that gap for me after he was gone."
Scarlet nodded, thoughtful. "I get it. I used to dance when I was younger. It was my mom's idea, but after she moved away, I kind of lost interest. Music filled that gap for me too."
It was rare for Scarlet to talk about her family. I hadn't pushed before, but hearing that small piece of her past made me feel like I was finally getting to know her on a deeper level.