AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You think tragedy runs in the family?” His dark eyes glint as he holds out the mitts, and we switchpositions.
“No. And if it did, there’d be gene therapies in our lifetime to address it. To insert and delete the smallest pieces of human programming.” He raises a brow. “But I’m a scientist. It’s not my job to playGod.”
I help Jake into his sparring gloves, then I pull on the focusmitts.
“Do you believe in God,Wesley?”
“I have respect for what is.” I glance toward the ring, where two men are full-out boxing. “That is the opposite of respect. For life or forGod.”
Arguments should be solved with words, with insight. Not an uppercut to thejaw.
Doesn’t mean I can’t land one, but that’s beside thepoint.
“You finished?” Jake asks dryly, and I narrow my eyes athim.
“Four.” I lean into it, ready for the jab-jab-cross-jab combination, absorbing the force of hisblows.
Another thing I appreciate about Jake is that he doesn’t look at me like I’m the walkingwounded.
I don’t need one more person giving me sympathy. Even if I’m sleepwalking through life right now, if another casserole shows up, I’m going to dump it on thefloor.
“How was your dinner with Rena?” heasks.
I fail to put enough weight behind the pads, and his cross glances off, catching me in the shoulder.That’s going to leave abruise.
“She thought it was a date,” Isay.
Jake’s eyes fall closed, and I wait for the contrition. Instead, he laughs. “What happened? I have toknow.”
“Nothing of consequence,” I grind out. “She’s not interested in working with me. And while I appreciate the recommendation, she can’thelp.”
But the look on his face says he suspectssomething.
I call out more combinations, and he seems content to throw his weight behind the punches. After a few minutes, he’s as sweaty as Iam.
I yank off the mitts, and he works on his gloves. I wipe my dripping face with a towel, and I lead the way toward the change room, resisting the urge to touch my soon-to-be-bruisedshoulder.
The locker rooms are the steady kind of busy, the older daytime crowd giving way to after-work set. School lets out before most employers, and I’m grateful to have beaten the rush as I duck into the shower, turning the water to cold the way I likeit.
After drying off, I stash my bag in a locker and meet Jake in thelounge.
“I feel like I’ve gone back seventy-five years every time I walk in here,” I say toJake.
“It’s thecarpet.”
“No. It’s the lack ofwomen.”
“Women are allowed in here. They have been since the eighties. Mostly they choose notto.”
Hard to imagine why. In the room full of dark cherry wood and Hemingway books, I drop into a leather chair across from Jake. Drinks are set in front of us. “What’re wedrinking?”
“Two parts vodka, one part lime juice, soda,” he says, taking his time with each syllable as if he’s enjoying thegame.
“Vodka gimlet.” I stir the drink, drop the lime on the napkin, and take a sip. “Notbad.”
He shoots me a smug grin, surveying the room. “You want to be part of this world, but you hate it at the same time,” hestates.
“Why would I hate these people?” I counter. “They pay mysalary.”
