PRIMROSE

“Up,” Egan said, and she aimed for his chest. He blocked it, holding both his forearms together.

“Up.” 

She punched again.

“Down.” She aimed a punch at his belly button, but his hands were down already. 

“Give me a left.”

She tried to punch the left side of his face, but he moved his head at the last second and her hand punched air. He smiled.

“Left.” And they repeated the same dance. 

She was sweating, in a pair of shorts and sports bra, and ...