Page 23 of Eight Count Heat
"Reed." She holds my gaze, though she has to tilt her head back to do it. "You have excellent power, but you're protecting your right shoulder."
I freeze. No one has noticed that. I've been careful.
"Old injury?" she asks.
I nod, reluctantly.
"Thought so. Your recruitment file mentioned a shoulder repair surgery in high school." She keeps her distance, but her gaze feels too intimate, too seeing. "Try dropping your right hand a half inch on the catch. It'll recruit your lats more and take pressure off the deltoid."
"You checked my medical records?" My voice sounds rusty from disuse.
"I check everything about my rowers." Her phrasing echoes Gray's so perfectly I wonder if she's mocking him.
"I'm not your rower."
"For the next week and a half, you are." She doesn't back down. "So fix the catch position. Your power numbers will improve by minimum eight percent."
I stare at her, speechless. She turns to leave, then hesitates.
"I know about your history with Omega coxswains," she says quietly. "Coach Bennett mentioned it."
The blood in my veins turns to ice. "He had no right."
"He thought I should know why one of my rowers flinches every time I get within five feet of him." Her expression softens slightly. "I'm a Beta, Reed. Nothing to worry about."
She walks away before I can respond, leaving me with the unsettling feeling that I just heard another lie.
The team house is quiet when I return from my late workout. Most of the guys are probably at dinner or the library. Perfect. I need the silence after the sensory overload of the day.
I climb the stairs to the second floor, heading for the shower in my room, when Eli's door opens. He leans against the doorframe, wearing only gym shorts, his sandy hair damp from his own shower. His lean body bears the marks of yesterday's practice, a bruise forming on his ribs where he caught a crab with his oar.
"You missed dinner," he says.
"Not hungry." I move to step past him.
His hand catches my wrist, gentle but firm. "Liar."
Unlike with Gray, I don't mind when Eli calls me on my bullshit. It's different with him. Everything is.
"Extra weight room session," I explain.
His hazel eyes scan my face. "Because of what she said about your shoulder?"
News travels fast in a house of eight rowers. "Partially."
Eli's thumb traces slow circles on the inside of my wrist, a gesture casual enough to be deniable but deliberate enough to send heat coursing through my veins.
"You're thinking too loudly," he murmurs. "I can hear it from my room."
"Thought you were studying for your econ midterm."
"I was. Then I got distracted." His gaze holds mine, a question in it.
We shouldn't do this again. We've both agreed it's just physical. Just convenience. Just two teammates helping each other through the pressure of competition season.
But tonight, with my skin feeling too tight and my head full of unwanted thoughts, I need the release. Need to regain control that's been slipping since Callahan stepped onto our dock.
I move forward, crowding Eli back into his room, kicking the door shut behind us. His breath hitches, pupils dilating as I turn and press him against the wall.
