“Aw, c’mon, Sash, I really don’t feel like—”
“Quit being a coward and put on the gloves, Feliks. I need to punch something and your face is the closest target I can reach.”
Feliks sighs, but he turns to the rack of gym equipment, plucks down his dusty pair of boxing mitts, and starts tugging them on.
I’m already laced up and ready. I’m still wearing the suit pants I wore to that f*****g ridiculous Lamaze class, though I’ve stripped off the shirt and cast it aside, leaving my torso bare to the cold air whistling through the vents.
The gym is cold as a morgue, which is how I prefer it. Reminds me of the early days. Of the woods.
I bounce from foot to foot. “If you take any longer—”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” protests Feliks. “f**k, impatience is not a virtue of yours.”
He’s not wrong
