Tired of the conversation, Leo pushed off his chair. “I’m gonna go out back for a few rounds.”
Peter regarded him solemnly, and Leo hoped he wouldn’t start the lecturing again, but after several moments, he simply nodded. “Have at it.”
With a tip of his head, Leo left the office, and after making his way through the cars in various states of repair, opened the door of the garage to the open-air area where Peter had set up a makeshift boxing space. Not an official ring, of course, but a roped-off, large, square space. In the corner he’d installed standing bags, wall bags, and body-opponent bags for practice, and various weights and benches for heavy lifting. He, Peter, and Peter’s brother, Georgie, as well as their friends, all used it to keep their skills sharp.
But that wasn’t what he was there for today, he decided as he wrapped his hands. He needed to punch something hard, so he slipped on the gloves Peter kept hanging on the wall, and flexing his shoulders, stretching out his muscles, he walked under the short metal roof, where a heavy bag hung suspended by thick chains.
A quick toss of his shirt and jeans to the bench, and he was ready to begin. Leo assumed a fighter’s stance and took sharp, quick jabs at first, then began a grueling routine. He fell into a zone where all that remained was him and the quick motion of his hands against the hard bag. Sweat ran off his brow and poured over his face, obscuring his vision, and he lost himself, hitting the bag over and over until his arms felt dead and he stood shaking, chest heaving, gasping for breath. Soaked and numb, Leo stared blankly at the swinging bag.
Still, the enemy remained. Locked inside.
“If you want to take a shower, go ahead. I’m just cleaning up.” Peter laid a big hand on his shoulder. “Lemme know if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
Head hung low, Leo shrugged off Peter’s touch and trudged to the tiny bathroom, where he stripped off his underwear. The hot water beat down on his aching shoulders, and he tipped his face up, letting the spray teem over his face.
After a perfunctory wash of his hair, he turned off the shower and gave a quick, rough pass of the towel over his body. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of putting on the sweaty briefs again.
Fuck it.The well-worn, soft jeans slid over his thighs, and Leo tucked himself in carefully and zipped up. He wadded up his briefs and stuck them in his pocket. His T-shirt on, he retraced his steps to the garage area, where Peter was now talking to his wife. Hanging back to observe them together, he wondered how the Peter he once knew, hard drinking, quick to fire up to a fight, a man who never saw the same woman twice, had morphed into someone whose eyes lit up like firecrackers at the sight of this one person. The contented smile never left Peter’s lips as he listened to Marla, and when he reached over to brush the hair from her face…damn. Leo felt that touch to his toes.
What would it be like to give yourself over to someone so completely, so deeply, that they became a part of you and their needs eclipsed your own? His father had loved him like that, but as far as a relationship? Leo couldn’t imagine what Peter and Marla had, and knew he must be missing some intrinsic part of himself that would allow him to love.
Marla glanced up, and her face broke out in a wide smile. “Leo, how are you?” She gave Peter a quick kiss before running over to him. Leo braced himself for the onslaught of affection he knew was coming his way. Only Marla could get away with touching him so casually, and as she threw her arms around him, he suffered through her hugs and kisses.
“Hi. Sorry about the wet hair.” He gently disengaged from her and took a step away.
“It’s okay. I have two children. I’ve had worse dripped on me.”
He couldn’t help a smile. Marla was one of the few people whose mere presence calmed him. Maybe that was why Peter loved her.
“Peter lent me the use of his equipment, and now I’m out.” He raised a hand to his friend, and ignoring Marla’s and Peter’s cries for him to stay, made tracks out of the garage. He hopped on his bike, and when it roared to life, took off down the street. Ominous gray clouds filled the horizon, and he could almost taste the metallic smell of the coming rain. There was little Leo liked less than getting caught in a thunderstorm, and at the first flash of lightning, he increased his speed, cops be damned.
He wove around the mess of double-parked trucks and cars and finally soared along Ocean Parkway toward his building. At the rumble of thunder and another crack of lightning, he winced and prepared for the deluge, which began two blocks from home. By the time he pulled into his spot behind the apartment building, he was soaked, his T-shirt plastered to his chest. Now more than ever, Leo regretted not fixing the rear door to the building, and he vowed to have it done.
Chin tucked to chest, Leo ran around the corner and up the path to the building.
“Oof.” He barreled into someone and reached out to grab their arm so they wouldn’t fall.
“Oh, shit.” The man stumbled forward and fell against him, both of them tumbling to the ground, the man on top of him.
The rain continued around them as Leo found himself caught by a pair of startled green eyes for the second time that day. His dick stirred and thickened, and Leo tightened his grip around Morgan Cantrell.
“Looking for me, 5C?”
