Page 4 of 3rd and 4
“No!” I rush to correct him, not wanting him to think I don’t want to talk to him. “It’s not. I just don’t…not a lot of people ask, that’s all.”
“Really?” He slows down so we can walk side by side. I feel his stare, but I keep my eyes on the floor. “I’d think that would be most people’s first question after watching you in action.”
“I love gymnastics. Learning it, practicing it, teaching it…it’s like…homeostasis. It’s my stable environment, my comfort zone.”
“It shows. When you were handspringing and back tucking on the field yesterday, it was easy to see your passion. Hence my question, why not join the gymnastics team. Compete for a chance at the Olympics.”
I blush again but force myself to be honest with him. Eva told me not to hide. “I was asked, more than once. I’ve had three Olympicgymnastics coaches meet with me and my family to discuss training.”
“Your parents wouldn’t let you?”
“My parents would support me no matter what I did, but I didn’twant to do it. I love it and competing on an international level would be a sure-fire way to eradicate any love I had for the sport. I grew up watching all the competitions, learning the tricks. But I also studied the athletes, their faces, their body language, the interactions with other competitors, coaches…I don’t know if I’m mentally tough enough to do that, but I do know that I don’t want to try. I cheer, tumble, handspring and back tuck for fun. Yes, I compete, but not on the scale of the Olympics. I don’t want to retire at the old age of 28, my body pushed beyond its limits with lifelong consequences to my health and sanity. I want to teach little kids until Social Security says I can retire.”
We stopped walking during my word vomit. I shift uncomfortably on my feet, his gaze like a physical touch that coaxes unfamiliar responses in my body. “You and my friend Crue Pribula will get along smashingly.”
“Huh?” Why would he want me to meet his friend? Oh, God! Is he setting me up with someone? He doesn’t want me for himself. He’s not interested in me, and I misread his attention. He’s just an intense guy, focused on his position as Mic-Man. I’m so stupid! I told myself last night that he was pretty and well built, but nothing would ever come of it. I’m a freshman, he’s a senior. And I’ve seen the girls on the squad. Shaye was a bitch, but she was right. I’m not like them. I’m short, lean, and breast deficient.
“Crue is an amazing football player, could go pro in a first-round draft pick, but he doesn’t want any of it. Wants to manage his family’s farm.” I don’t understand most of what he said except the family farm. “Baffles literally everyone that he wouldgive up millions of dollars to harvest grain. But that’s what he’s passionate about, that’s what gets him up in the morning. He’s using football to pay for his degree. Just like you’re using cheering to pay for yours so you can teach.”
“And you think…we’ll hit it off?” Addy’s smile drops instantly. I said something wrong.
“As friends.” he spits out. I nod, but his sudden change in mood is confusing. “Come on, let’s get going. We’ve got a lot to run through.” I follow along quietly, his footsteps heavier than they were before. He’s upset and I have no idea why.
Practice with Addy is its own special kind of torture. I’ve never had a man touch me beyond hugs from my dad and brother, but Addy’s strong, capable fingers are all over me as he lifts me up and walks through the launches without any force. We’re supposed to be getting comfortable with each other, so our movements are smooth, but every grip of his hand, every brush of his firm body against mine makes me shake. They steal my breath and it’s hard to remember what I’m supposed to be doing. I feel wet between my legs and my nipples ache. My stomach is twisting more than I am and that’s not going to get us anywhere. After an hour, I hold up my hand to stop him from coming any closer.
“I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I just…I think I need to study the routines a little more. Can we pick this up tomorrow? Or the day after?” I don’t think I can handle his touch anymore today. I feel like I’m going to combust and the pulse behind my clit is growing increasingly more distracting. I’m gonna get hurt, or God forbid, hurt Addy because of my recklessness.
“Yeah.” He wipes a towel across his face; his hair is wet and hanging over his face. I want to run my fingers through it. I wantto feel it tickle my skin. I want…I want a cold shower and some quiet. “Why don’t we shower, then we can get some lunch.”
“Ok.” I grab my bag and rush through the doors to the women’s locker room at this end of the complex. I keep the water cool and let it soothe my overheated body. My muscles loosen. I’m gonna make a fool of myself if I don’t get control of my body. He’s attractive. Extremely, unfairly attractive. But that doesn’t mean I have to lose all cognitive abilities. I wash my hair, then my body. I hiss when the loofah rubs across my nipples, the pulse between my legs growing stronger with every swipe. I hang up the loofah and run my fingers over my stomach to my clit. At first touch, I moan as my body jerks like I’ve been electrocuted. It feels so good. I rub circles over the swollen flesh, my thighs twitching, my core clenching. Faster, harder, tighter, I push myself to the edge and drop my head back on a long, low moan as pleasure ripples across my body. My free hand pinches my nipples until my climax washes over me, leaving me breathless and panting against the wall of the shower cubicle.
My head is clear. I’m stronger than my…urges. He doesn’t even want me, so there’s no point in dwelling on how he makes me feel. That’s my problem, not his. We have to work together and I’m excited for what Jenna has planned for us.
I dry off then dress in my change of clothes, linen shorts, a graphic tee, and sandals. Since I’m going to the athlete’s dining hall, I throw my wet hair up in a messy bun and repack my bag. I step out of the locker room and come up short. Addy is leaning against the wall, freshly showered and looking just as good in cargo shorts and a tee as he did in his athletic wear.
“Hey, did you need something?” I ask, wondering why he’s still here. I thought he was getting lunch.
“Uh.” His right dark brow rises slowly up his forehead. “I was waiting for you. We’re gonna get lunch.”
“We are?” I wince at my squeaky voice.
“Yes.” He laughs easily, gesturing for me to start walking.
“I thought you were gonna go get lunch. And I would get lunch. But…separately?”
“Where’s the fun in that? I’m with myself all the time, I’d rather be with you.” My steps falter, his words hitting me with such force. He wants to spend time with me? He probably wants to discuss our routines, fix our mistakes. I can handle that.
I ask, “The athlete’s dining hall?” when we open the doors to the outside.
“Nah, it’ll be crowded. I thought we could go to this deli off campus. It’s like a 15-minute walk. Is that good with you?”
“I don’t have…my meal plan is for on-campus dining only.”
He winks, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his shorts. “My treat.”
“You don’t have to do that; I might have some cash—” I stop when I realize I don’t have my purse with me. Just my university ID, which is also my meal card and my dorm key.
“Don’t worry about it. When you’re with me, you don’t pay.” I’ll let it go this time, but if we go out tomorrow, I’ll pay. I just have to convince him to eat at the dining hall so I can use my card.
