| Preston |
I figured Keith would throw the first punch and I was ready for it, ducking and weaving- avoiding it easily.
A few more and I could see his frustration rising already. We were barely fifteen seconds in.
His movements were predictable, obviously slacking off in his training.
“Come on you little fruit,” he sneered, saying it low.
Another two thrown punches. One almost got me, glancing my cheek bone. The other I dodged completely. That one was close, but I was getting more and more of his points of weakness with every swing. He was working himself up now, losing his cool but swinging faster and harder.
“Hit me back.”
I cast him a s**t eating grin, “Hit back? Maybe if you hit me, I would.”
He gave a growl, throwing three haymakers. One did strike me, but it was the last on
