We stare at one another, waiting for the first move. He’s impatient, shifting on his feet. I move my elbow an inch getting him to swing and take the first punch but I duck and he gets nothing but air.
“Nice,” he grunts, veins showing in his neck. He’s pissed and I use the anger as a distraction, kicking him once in the knee and again in the stomach. He catches my foot in his hands and twists, spinning me through the air. I flail for a second, my side aching from the move, but quickly adjust, landing on my knees and look up at Cole.
He breathes heavily but has a small smirk on his face. We’re synched, primed to fight and on the same beat we rush forward and collide.
*