The locker room was a tomb of white tile, the air thick with the hum of an industrial fan that didn’t do a damn thing to move the heat. I stripped down in silence, the familiar weight of my street clothes hitting the wooden bench with a dull thud. I folded them with a precision that bordered on obsession.
I stepped into my fighting shorts. They were a deep, storm blue—the color of a sky right before the lightning breaks. Kenzie had been the one to plant the seed, telling me with that sideways grin of hers that Jupiter favors blue.
I could still see her face from earlier, flushed and soft in the dim, cramped heat of her van after we’d f****d, going on a whole tangent while the world outside didn't exist. She’d looked me dead in the eye and told me the universe was practically rigged in my
