“You look like a man who needs to punch something,” he says, arms crossed, his breath fogging in the crisp morning air.
I narrow my eyes at him. “What makes you think that?”
“Hm, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you’re currently sitting on a log by the empty campfires with your face resting on your fists.”
“I’m fine,” I grunt, pushing myself off the log and rolling my neck until it pops. “And I’m about to go train anyway.”
“You’ve been brooding like a rejected Disney prince for two days straight,” he says.
“Yeah, well, I don’t know the correct way to respond when I’ve been rejected after kissing Romilly.”
Logan pauses, wincing. “Ouch…okay, I know I wasn’t down before, but if you need to tackle someone, I’m game.”
I side-eye him. “You’re volunteering to be my punching bag? What about your surfing competition?”
“Hey, I’ve got brothers. I’m used to getting beat up emotionally and physically. Plus, I know you won’t actually kill me because then you’d have to attend all the extra activities you keep avoiding so we’re not short a counselor.”
Tempting.
“And look. I brought these.” Logan tosses me a pair of makeshift sparring mitts he must have brought from his cabin.
“What in the world, mate? Did you anticipate this moment or something?”
“You moping and needing to punch something? Always.” He shoots me a cocky grin. “Come on, Smasher. Let it out.”
“You sure about this?”
“No, but I had two cups of coffee and a piece of banana bread this morning, so I feel invincible.”
I laugh, despite myself. “Okay. But I’m not going easy.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We grab some pads from my bag in the cabin and head straight for the woods. Since it’s early in the morning, we have some time before camp activities begin for the day. Logan insists we warm up first, and by the time we’re on our second set of push-ups in the clearing near the trailhead, both our sweatshirts are drenched in sweat. The sharp breath I inhale carries the scent of the damp leaves clinging to the air around us.
“You ready?” Logan asks.
“Let’s do this.”
We square off. I throw a few light jabs at the pads to start.
“You’re holding those wrong,” I tell him.
“Says the guy who’s currently monologuing between punches.”
I hit harder.
Logan staggers back, then recovers. “Okay, wow. Your feelings for Romilly are doing wonders for your upper body strength.”
“Shut up.”
“Just saying. If you two ever actually kiss again, I might have to start wearing tougher stuff to these sessions.”
I hit the mitts harder, ignoring the way my jaw clenches.
Logan whistles. “Oh yeah, that’s the sound of a man scorned.”
“She’s not—” I cut myself off with a jab-cross-hook combo. “I’m just giving her space.”
