Logan says and I hop off the scale. “So you never have to cut weight?” Ivy asks me. “Nope, not usually.” I adjust the waist of my shorts and take a drink of water. “Oh, he has before and you better watch out ’cause it’s scary,” Logan warns. “What’s that mean?” I ask offended. “Uhh, that you act crazy, all agitated and moody, like a bitch.” I laugh remembering a time when I did cut weight. “That was when you made me take a welterweight fight when I’m a middleweight.” “No,” he shakes his head laughing, “I didn’t make you do anything. You wanted to fight that douche, remember?” “Same difference, you encouraged me and then let me agree to it, before I knew the ramifications.” “Whatever, you kicked his ass.” Logan puts on the sparring gloves and I hop up, punching every time he raises a hand to me. My heart is pumping strong. Even though this is the shortest notice I’ve ever taken a serious fight on, I cannot wait to get into the ring. As I stand toe to toe with Logan, repeatedly hitting again and again, Ivy’s eyes are on me.
