Jay swung.
It was not a terrible swing. It had weight behind it from someone who trained properly, a right-hand shot coming for the left side of Mike's head with genuine speed. Mike turned his chin to the right and let the fist clear his ear by two inches, felt the air of it, and stepped inside Jay's reach before Jay could pull the arm back.
He put his forearm across Jay's chest, not a strike, just a bar, and used Jay's own forward momentum to walk him backward into the garden wall of the property on their left. Jay hit it at the hip and stopped.
Jay grabbed Mike's jacket with both hands and shoved, getting his feet under him and using the wall as a brace. He had more leverage from the position, and he drove with it, turning Mike sideways and breaking the hold.
They separated for a half second, both resetting.
"Last chance," Mike said. "You better stop before you make a fool of yourself."
He was breathing normally. This was information Jay received and did not like.
