Page 3 of Full Split
Before anyone notices me drooling, I head to the bar and jump up without a spotter. I start slow, lazy even. A couple of kip casts, a basic swing—just enough to look like I'm doing something. I'm barely paying attention, watching him in my periphery. I can feel when his attention shifts. His gaze feels heavy on my skin, it gives me weight and focus.
Now that I know his attention is on me, I turn it up. Three full turns into a release. My legs split mid-air. I rotate, catch the bar, swing again. My grip tightens. I hit a twisting double tuck dismount. Admittedly, I'm slightly off balance, but I land it steady enough. Not my cleanest work, but it doesn't matter. What matters is Wyatt—his eyes on me, his reaction, his response.
I land facing him. His arms are crossed, but his mouth twitches. I wink, and his ears turn red.
Goddamn.
The weekend comes rushing back. I feel a little bad, I can sometimes get a little testy when I’m worked up. Wyatt showing up when I was dressed like bait and fleeing a date with some asshole who thought he was entitled to know everything about my body before we were even served our first drinks. Not to mention he was rather pushy about buying me a drink, even though I told him I was only twenty. Sure, I have a fake ID that I use on occasion, but I don’t typically drink before a hookup. He gave me major creep vibes, which is why I'd texted Westonto come get me. The guy was two drinks in and not taking hints when I got the text that Wyatt had arrived.
The moment I saw him I felt ashamed. It's bad enough I've been crushing on him since before I was old enough to understand what a crush was. Then he shows up in his sleek Audi like some kind of romance book hero—silently seething as he watched me run out of the bar with my bad date hot on my heels. He pulled away before he asked any questions. Just like always, he was there for me. Silent, solid, and protective as ever.
Wyatt's been there for me since I was five years old. But something about seeing him that night, feeling his eyes rake down my body when he saw me in that outfit, just made my attraction to him worse. Seeing him notice me at all seemed to give my inside thoughts encouragement to become outside thoughts, and sealed my fate.
Before that night, I would have kept going about my business, making jokes here and there but knowing I never had a chance. After? For the first time, I got the tiniest inkling of real possibility… and I know I'm about to become a problem. Because there is no other option for me other than Wyatt Lincoln. He might not know it yet, but he is mine and I am his and no amount of embarrassment will deter me.
Flushed, I walk towards the vault with Weston.
"Seriously?" he says, side-eyeing me. "You aren't even being discreet about it anymore, are you?"
"What?" I say, tearing my eyes off his dad and trying to feign innocence.
"Are you gonna eye-fuck my dad all day or do you want to get some work in? US Classics are in a couple weeks."
I groan dramatically. "But he's sooooo hot."
West rolls his eyes with a huff and walks off. He's used to my bullshit by now. He's heard me say it for years. Poor guy thinks I'm joking.
I'm not.
Weston nails his vault. Tight form, solid rotation, textbook landing. An easy mid-fourteens score if we were at competition. I clap, whoop, and mentally prep for my turn. I love the high bar, love the height and visibility. But the vault is what I’m best at. It’s also one of the only events where Weston and I can really compete with each other, so we've spent more time on it. I've been working on this new combo for months. It's a high difficulty move with a risky execution, but if I can hit it and land it cleanly, it'll turn heads and earn me a high enough score to make it to the next qualifier.
Steeling myself with a slow, deep breath, I sprint down the runway. I hit the springboard and launch just as a loud bang echoes through the gym, pulling my focus away. I don't even know what it was, but it throws me off enough that I falter, twisting late. My angle is off, and I know the landing is going to hurt. I say a quick, silent prayer that I don't break anything and take myself out of the running. This is supposed to be our year. It sucks that one little mistake could end everything.
But thankful I never hit the mat, because big, strong arms catch me. A sturdy chest absorbs my momentum, and I know by his smell who’s caught me before I process it fully. Wyatt smells like clean sweat and earthy musk, barely disguised by spicy deodorant and fresh laundry. He smells strong. Warm. Comforting.
Arousing.
He cradles me like I'm breakable. I should hate it, but the way he looks down at me, wide-eyed and worried, distracts me. My hands move to his chest, fingers curling into the tight fabric of his shirt. I can feel his body heat and the frantic beating of his heart through my fingertips.
"You good?" he asks, voice low.
I nod, unable to speak or swallow. Blood roars in my ears as Wyatt lowers me to my feet. I slide slowly down his body, feeling every muscle and ridge on my way down.
Clearing my throat, I turn to walk it off. Chin held high so everyone can’t see how not fine I actually am, I head to get a drink of water. Hopefully, no one notices my legs shaking. Maybe I just look shaken up over the almost-fall. It’s probably better they think that than know I was actually caught up in an inappropriate fantasy about my best friend's dad.
By the time I turn around again, Wyatt is nowhere to be seen. West is giving me a look from his spot over near the vault. I wave a hand to let him know I'm fine. After gulping down some water, I make my way back over to try again. I'm intercepted halfway there by Sid, the owner of the gym and our main coach. He's stomping across the floor, closing and locking a side entrance, muttering curses in a mix of Russian and English, something about parasites and cameras.
"Pruitt! Lincoln!"
Weston raises an eyebrow, but Sid waves him off. "Not you, your father. Where did he disappear to?"
"I'm here," Wyatt says, emerging from the upstairs office. He trots down the stairs casually, but his tight expression betrays his worry. We meet him at the bottom of the stairs.
Sid doesn't even look at me when he speaks, he talks straight to Wyatt like I'm not even there.
"Did you see that bullshit? Press, trying to sneak footage. This is twice now."
Wyatt frowns. "What do you want to do?"
