“Because it’s a thing I say before I kick somebody’s ass out of my gym.”
“It’s my gym too,primo.”
“Yeah, but you’re off work until Monday. And maybe you should think about that before working three eighteen-hour days in a row. Just something to consider. Maybe take a lunch every now and then.”
“So, does this mean I can’t work out in my own gym?” I ask, smiling.
Nick looks at me and narrows his eyes. “This feels suspiciously like a loophole.”
“I own a gym with you, and I need to stay in top shape so that people believe that they should come to our gym. This is for my health and for the health of our business. I’m not working, I’m just working out.”
“Okay,fine,” he says, gesturing two fingers between us. “But I’ve got my eyes on you.”
“Okay, creepy cousin. I’m just trying to get my workout on.”
Ha. Whatever.
I give him my bounciest, brightest Roly smile and go over to the hanging bars, where I bust out twenty pull-ups, just to get warmed up. As I drop to the ground, I notice the new guy walking in. He seems like an interesting person, but very quiet. Whenever we’ve been in the same space, he gets anxious and usually beats a quick retreat. Well, since I’m not working, I guess I can try to make a new friend.
“Hey, Rafi!” I greet, remembering his name just in time. “It’s good to see you here. What’re you thinking about working on today?”
Nick looks over at me, raising his eyebrow, which I ignore. I turn back to Rafi and amp up my smile. His eyes widen a little, and he takes a step back. “I am… Just working on the bag again.”
“Would you rather spar? It’s a hell of a lot more fun.”
Something flashes in Rafi’s eyes, and his jaw sets like he’s decided something. “Sure, I’d like to take my chances at sparring.”
Sweet.
“Awesome, let’s just get taped up and then get our gloves on, and don’t forget all of the padding, and I’ll meet you in the sparring section by the heavy bags in a few minutes.”
“Sounds good,” Rafi says. He’s looking wound up, like maybe he’s mad about something and needs to work it out.
Me too, little guy. Me too.
We meet in the padded sparring area, and I go over the rules with him. Just as it was with the heavy bag, he’s eager to learn and quick to pick up the basics. Right as we are about to begin, I notice Everett wandering his way over to us. I don’t know if Everett thinks that he’s being subtle, or whatever, but it’s clear that he’s got some Rafi on the brain.
Might as well help a brother out, so I ask him to man the bell. He agrees, then leans over, whispering in my ear, “You’d better not put a scratch on that man.”
I chuckle to myself. Everett’s adorable. “Hey, man, it’s just a light spar. Nobody’s going in for the knockout, we’re just literally brushing each other with our gloves.”
At least that was the plan.
For the first several minutes, Rafi and I get a feel for each other, dancing around one another, landing light punches, his form pretty decent for somebody who’s only spent time on the bag. Everett dings the bell, and we both take a break, get some water, wipe the sweat off our brows, then meet again in the middle.
Seems fairly textbook, right?
Yeah, not so much.
From the second that Everett dings the bell for the second round, Rafi is on me like grackles on a South Austin light pole. His punches are coming faster, and he’s not doing as good a job of pulling them as we had in our first round. That’s okay, I know what I’m doing and set up my defensive moves so that he doesn’t land anything that hurts too bad or damages my money-maker. Even with his more aggressive posturing, I’m still in control… until Heath walks in the door. I track him, unable to focus on anything else, and suddenly I’m on the ground.
Once my eyes stop swirling around in my head, I realize that I’d taken a hit to the temple, the same temple that had gotten the rifle treatment. It rings my bell for a few moments, but when I try to tell Rafi that it’s not his fault, that it’s just an old injury, my explanation is cut short by a jab to my eye. And another. Rafi is raining blows down on me like I cursed his mother.
Everett calls out, “Rafi, we don’t do that. This is not how we spar. You have to back off.”
Rafi ignores Everett’s warning and continues to punch me, mostly with ill-aimed glancing blows, but some of them are landing, and I know that I’m gonna have a pretty good shiner at the very least. If I were less dizzy, I’d have had him off of me by now, but honestly, at this point I’m just trying not to toss my cookies on the gym floor.
The blows finally stop as Everett pulls him off me. I finally get a good look at Rafi’s face, which is nearly purple with rage. Heath is suddenly there, kneeling beside me, opening my eyelids to examine my pupils. I mean, I hope that’s why he’s doing that, because it hurts like a motherfucker.
