The Summer Games: Out of Bounds (11 page)

“Do you feel how hard it is to resist me?”

I gritted my teeth, searching for some residual pool of strength, but he pushed down harder, making it nearly impossible for me to move. Maybe I could have finished the pushup on another day, but we’d already been at it for hours and my arms were shaking, threatening to give out.

“Ugghhh!” I groaned as I collapsed on the floor. My lungs gulped in air and my eyes pinched closed. I stayed there, frozen, relishing the break.

Erik stood and walked off, and I swore I heard a light chuckle.

“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

He stopped dead in his tracks, turned, and glared at me on the ground.

“Since Brie didn’t finish that round, we’ll all repeat it. From the top.”

Chapter Fourteen

Erik

Brie Watson’s meteoric
rise to gymnastics elite has taken the world by surprise. Watson is by far the least experienced—the other four members of the women’s Olympic team have been competing at the highest level for half a decade—however, she just might be the most formidable. She’s earned gold at the World Gymnastics Competition three years in a row, and when the Olympic games begin next month in Rio, she’ll have a chance to write the next chapter of her inspiring Cinderella story.

Watson’s path to success was never an easy one. Raised by a single mother, she has been no stranger to hardship. Her mother, Monica, worked long hours at several jobs to make ends meet and ensure that Watson could continue to train in the sport. The hard work of both Watson women eventually paid off after Brie qualified for her first World Gymnastics meet in 2013. Faced with the prospect of bankrupting the small family to finance the cost of attending, the eventual world champion nearly pulled out. But when a friend close to the family set up a Kickstarter page online, Watson’s tightknit gymnastics community pulled together to fund her path to the world championships.

Much of her success can be attributed to her coach Igor Bortnik at Elite Gymnastics in Austin, Texas. He saw “an indomitable spirit” in young Watson and pushed her to consider making gymnastics a full-time aspect of her life—

I was in the middle of reading the article about Brie when my phone vibrated on the table beside my laptop. I reached to silence it, then paused when I saw my mother’s number flash across the screen.

I inhaled a deep breath and answered it, bracing myself for the worst.

“Hi Mom.”

“No. It’s me.”

My father.

Bastard.

“Thought you were in the hospital?” I asked, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. Even half a country away, his voice geared me up for a fight.

“I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks. We have to discuss the girls’ training—”

“Not interested.”

The man was not only on the brink of a heart attack, he was fucking delusional.

“Erik, please,” he said with a gruff tone. “Put our differences aside for a moment and realize you need me. Let me help you. I’ve been in your position for the last thirty years.”

I smirked and shook my head. “Yeah, so I’ve heard. What was it—seven Olympic teams? And not a single one of them earned all-around gold. Maybe it’s time to change things up a bit.”

Silence.

“Put Mom on,” I ordered, done with our conversation. It wasn’t going anywhere anyway.

I heard the phone exchange hands and then my mother’s voice cut in. “Erik? Sweetheart?”

“Don’t do that again.”

She sighed. “I’m just trying to help. I know you won’t answer his calls.”

“I haven’t answered his calls for ten years and that’s not going to change now.”

A door shut on the other end of the line and her voice dropped low. “He’s sick, Erik. I suspect you’ve read about it in the news, but it’s worse than they’ve made it out to be.”

My gut clenched despite my anger.

“They’re going to try surgery in a few days, but the doctor isn’t sure it’ll help. He already has two stents in his heart.”

“I don’t care.”

“Erik,” she hissed, hurt.

“Do you honestly think I’m going to send the man a
get well
card?”

“I’m not saying your feelings aren’t valid!” she argued, sounding defeated. “I know he’s not been kind to you. I just don’t want you to—”

“Regret it,” I cut in. “Yeah, I get it. You don’t have to worry though. I lost my dad twelve years ago. The man lying in that hospital room means nothing to me.”

I hung up and pushed away from the table. I was already in my running gear, prepared to head out after breakfast, but the article about Brie had distracted me.

It was still early, hardly 6:00 AM, the best time to run. I didn’t bother stretching. My calves would have to deal with it later because I needed to run, needed to work off my excess anger from that phone call. I set off, turning right out of the driveway and heading out on the deserted road.

I was a mile in when something up ahead caught my eye.

Brie
.

She was running alone with her iPod in an armband and her earbuds in place.
Stupid
. Out on these deserted roads, anyone could have grabbed her. I shook my head and kept my distance, just far enough away that with her earbuds in, she couldn’t hear my shoes on the pavement behind her. She was heading away from town, through winding roads with no ends.
Did she think about that before setting out by herself?
I didn’t live in a neighborhood. The roads were confusing, the trees all the same. I’d gotten lost myself a few times when I’d first moved here, but Brie seemed to run without a care in the world.

Until her shoe came untied.

I came up short, at a loss for what to do. If I stopped running and she looked back and saw me, it’d be weirder than if I just kept running.
Right?
Fuck
. Why did I care? I shouldn’t have given two shits about Brie Watson’s opinion, but as I rounded the top of the hill and she came within a few yards, I knew I was lying to myself.

Her head tilted up as she finished tying her laces. Her brows scrunched in confusion and she reached up to pull out her earbuds.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked with a scowl.

I ran past her without answering and I heard her audible groan from behind me as she pushed to her feet and ran to catch up to me.

“You were following me weren’t you?
Jesus
.”

My fists tightened at the accusation.
Is she kidding?
“Don’t flatter yourself. I run every morning.”

“Right.”

She still didn’t believe me.

I picked up my pace, leaving her in the dust. Unlike her, I was smart enough not to run with headphones in. If someone pulled over to kidnap her, I’d hear it. There was no sense in slowing down to protect her. She obviously thought she could protect herself.

“Hey wait!” she called, speeding up to catch me. “Now I’m the weirdo following you. Let’s just run together.”

I shook my head. “I run by myself. Ask the Lumineers to keep you company.”

I ran faster.

She caught up, but her breathing was heavy, strained. I glanced over to see her chest rising and falling in her tight tank top. A trickle of sweat slid down her neck and disappeared between her breasts. I whipped my gaze back to the road as my dick stirred in my athletic shorts, not letting me ignore the sight of Brie’s body in tight running clothes.

“I like to run by myself too, but we’re both already out here,” she said. “Jesus, can you just slow down a little bit?”

There was no use in running unless it was a workout. “I only run with people that don’t slow me down.”

“Oh please, you’re practically sprinting to get away from me. Just run like a normal person.”

I slowed down a smidgen, just enough to earn a little smile from her.

“Why do you want to run with your
asshole
coach anyway?”

To her credit, a slight brush crept up her neck, overtaking her already flushed face. “I believe in second chances,” she said, sliding her gaze to me with a hint of playfulness. “Or in your case, seventh or eighth chances.”

I grunted. “You deserved what you got yesterday.”

She sighed and then slowly, as if the words were torture for her to say, she continued, “You’re right, I’m sorry. Okay? Bring as many girls home as you want. Far be it from me to try to dictate the terms of your booty calls.”

I smirked but turned away before she could see it. Brie was bluffing and unfortunately for her, she had a shit poker face. I saw the way she looked at me, the stolen glances in the gym, the burn of desire behind her gaze. Reading between the lines of her defiance gave away the extent to which my presence had affected her. Around me she was a ticking time bomb, but then again, she had lit my fuse as well. Toying with Brie was quickly becoming my favorite pastime and a part of me wondered why I was doing it. Yes, she was disrespectful and constantly talked back during practice, but she was hardly the first strong-headed girl in my gym to be guilty of that. No, I was enjoying her punishment a little too much. Most coaches would have ignored the insubordination rather than engaging it, distanced themselves from the problem until it worked itself out peacefully. Most coaches would have stayed safely behind a professional facade, but unfortunately for her, I wasn’t most coaches.

Chapter Fifteen

Brie

I didn’t have
a lot of friends growing up. In gymnastics, if you’re good, you’re lonely. Sure, in the lower levels, you develop friendships—it’s impossible not to; spending twenty hours a week with the same set of girls pretty much ensures that. The awkward part comes during evaluations.
Which girls improved over the course of the year and which ones straggled?
Inevitably, some of the team gets bumped up to the next level and some are left behind to perfect their skills and hold on to promises of “next year”.

My friends dwindled more and more each year. It wasn’t hard to get bumped from level 5 to 6, but by the time I was competing at the elite level, my friends were all left on the outside looking in. They practiced at different times. Even the kindest among them couldn’t hide the resentment in their eyes when we happened to cross paths, and truly, I didn’t blame them. At practice, the coaches couldn’t help but favor me, showering me with attention because they saw my true potential.

I was fourteen when I quit school to focus on gymnastics full-time. They had tutors for us at the gym and we still had to take classes and finish a GED, but it wasn’t the same. There was no lunch, no cute boys to distract me in first period, no prom, no parties on the weekends.

I was only twenty, but it felt like I’d lived a thousand lives already. In Texas, my days were long and regimented. There weren’t weekends or vacations. I had a singular goal and my entire life revolved around it. My body was a machine. My hands were callused. My bones had dealt with breaks and sprains and fractures. I knew what it felt like to push myself to my limit and then go ten steps further. I wouldn’t be able to rest until I had that gold medal around my neck. Then, maybe,
finally
I’d feel like I was worth all my mother’s sacrifices.

“How do you want your omelet?” I asked Molly.

I was in charge of dinner that night and I was sick of the prepared food sitting in the refrigerator. We had a hot plate and a pan, and I was using them.

“Super cheesy, please!” she said, licking her lips.

“I want bacon in mine!” Lexi said.

They were sitting at the table with forks in hand, ready to devour whatever food I dropped in front of them.

I shook my head and dipped forward to rummage around in the fridge. “We have ham, onion, cheese, and spinach.”

“Fine. Extra ham then.”

After I whipped up omelets for my team (save June who nuked a prepared meal with her head down and then carried it up to her room like we didn’t exist), I scanned over the extra ingredients I’d prepared.

“Does anyone want another one?”

Full groans and protests proved I’d made enough omelets to feed an army, but I didn’t want the extra eggs to go to waste. I glanced over my shoulder and paused on the dim light of Erik’s house in the distance. Without a second thought, I turned back to the hot plate and poured some eggs into the pan, adding a mixture of ingredients in the very center.

“No, seriously. I can’t eat another,” Molly said, patting her stomach.

I smiled down at the pan. “It’s not for you.”

“Surely you’re not going to give it to Ju—”

“I bet it’s for Erik,” Lexi said with a laugh. “You’ve got Stockholm syndrome, girl. The man literally tortures you and you make him eggs?”

“Maybe she’s poisoning it,” Molly pointed out.

I rolled my eyes and flipped the omelet in the pan. “I’m not going to kill him. Jeez.”

“Then you really are in love with the guy. He was such a jerk yesterday.”

I straightened my back. “I’m not in love. Haven’t you heard of a peace offering? We have a few more weeks with the guy. There’s no point in fighting with him the whole time.”

Lexi snorted. “You like fighting with him. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

I turned to stare at them over my shoulder, but they avoided my eyes. Even Rosie kept her gaze on her plate, not bothering to protest.

“I’m standing up for myself. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm. Remind me, after Rosa Parks stuck it to that bus driver, did she bake him a soufflé?”

I ignored Lexi and slid the finished product onto a paper plate. The three of them sat in silence as I slipped on my flip-flops and headed through the door.

“We’ll leave the light on for you!” Molly said with a laugh.

I shook my head. They were being ridiculous. Eggs and flip-flops weren’t some grand romantic gesture—I was just trying to solidify the truce we’d seemed to come to during our run. For miles, he and I ran side by side, sometimes talking, mostly running and listening to each other’s steady breaths. After that, he didn’t ignore me quite as much during practice. He helped me with my form on a tumbling pass on floor. Sure, I’d nearly swallowed my tongue when he’d come up behind me and slipped his hands down my arms, rotating them in the air and showing me the path my body should take when I was flipping. I’d pretended like I was confused so he’d have to do it again and when I’d glanced up, Molly and Lexi were making crude gestures across the gym. Fortunately, Erik hadn’t noticed and when he’d released me, I’d kept my head down, hiding my flushed cheeks.

When I walked up the stairs of his porch, I caught movement behind the front window and peered inside, wanting to ensure he was alone before I knocked. If he’d brought another girl home, I wasn’t going to interrupt them. Still, my stomach tightened at the thought.
Would he really bring home another girl?
I leaned another inch to the side and spotted him pulling open a kitchen cabinet. His back was to me and he was wearing nothing but low-slung pajama pants.

I barely managed a quick glimpse before he turned back to drop a bowl on the counter. I whipped around, pressed my back against the side of the house, and hoped he hadn’t seen me.

I took two deep breaths, glancing down at the omelet shaking on the paper plate.

Get it together. You’ve seen a guy without a shirt on.
Correction: I’d seen boys without their shirts on. Erik was all man.

After another
calm your shit
breath, I leaned back and peeked through the window. He was pouring cereal into a bowl, and while the act itself was innocent, he looked positively sinful doing it. The simple movements stretched the taut muscles of his abdomen and obliques, making me salivate on the spot. His body was
insane
, lean and toned enough to make my heart race and my hand shake harder. I let myself absorb him for another second, trying to pin to memory every detail I could manage: his smooth shoulders, his tan chest. Every part of him begged to be touched—from his mussed up hair to his bare feet—but then like a slap to the face, I realized what I was looking at: Erik was at home, eating a bowl of cereal for dinner.

Alone
.

Sure, maybe he was a brooding jerk, but even monsters need warm meals.

I glanced away from the window, forced my hand to stop shaking, and then walked to the back door and knocked.

“One sec,” he called from inside.

I fidgeted on my feet, watching the steam rise off the omelet just as he whipped the door open and finished pulling a tight gray t-shirt on over his head. I saw a glimpse of his abs up close and gaped at the sharp V that disappeared into his pajama pants just before the material covered him, stealing him from my sight.

“Brie?” he asked, drawing my gaze up to his face.

He’d seen me checking him out.

I held out the plate. “We made dinner and I figured you might want some.”

His brows rose in shock. “What did you put in it?”

I groaned. “What is it with everyone thinking I’m trying to kill you?”

He smirked and I looked away.

“Obviously, if I wanted to kill you, I would do it in a much more painful way than poisoned eggs,” I continued with a soft smile. “So eat it or throw it away. I don’t care.”

He reached out for the plate.

“You say that a lot,” he said, holding the door open a little wider.

It was an invitation.

“Say what?” I asked, clasping my hands in front of my chest.

He turned away from the door, leaving it ajar for me as he walked into the kitchen.

“You ‘don’t care’.” He threw the words over his shoulder as he pulled open a drawer and grabbed a fork.

I stood on the porch for another second as he took his first bite of the food I’d offered. His head bobbed in approval and the appreciation settled like an anchor in my stomach. Why did I want to impress him? Prove to him that I was more than what he saw?

I fidgeted in place, glancing back to the guesthouse and wondering what the girls would think if I disappeared inside Erik’s house.

“Shut the door before the bugs get in,” he said. “I’ve already got enough tenants to deal with.”

The command spurred my body into action before I’d even made up my mind. I stepped into his house with a long inhale and then turned to shut the door. The ominous sound of it settling in place released a swarm of butterflies inside my stomach. The last time I’d been there he had pressed me up against that door, yelling at me for ruining his date. There’d been anger in his eyes then, but when I met his gaze over the kitchen island, there was something new:
curiosity
.

His attention swept down my body as he took another bite of the omelet.

“This is good,” he said.

He’d nearly scarfed down half of it already. I smiled and walked closer, taking a seat across the wide island. With him on one side and me on the other, I felt some semblance of safety. It was an illusion, but I tried not to fight it. I liked the way the granite felt between us. Stone was as strong a barrier as any.

“It’s not fancy or anything.” I shrugged.

He nodded and peered up at me from over his plate. “What
do
you care about?” he asked.

I scrunched my brows, confused.

“You like everyone to think you don’t care about anything,” he continued, going back to our earlier conversation. “So I’m curious, what
do
you care about?”

I gripped the edge of the island and tilted back in my chair. “Umm…” My gaze flitted around his kitchen, trying to think up an answer that didn’t sound like a cliché dating profile. “I like baking and running.”

He nodded, swallowing down another bite. “I already know that.”

I glanced back to him. His gaze was on me, eyes narrowed, dark brows drawn together in concentration.

“Why does it feel like you’re, I don’t know, gathering intel on an enemy? Are you going to use this against me the next time we fight?”

His features relaxed slightly. The edge of his mouth tipped up in a seductive smirk and he dragged his gaze across my bare neck and down to the top of my chest. My skin heated under his casual perusal. “You’re not my enemy.”

I swallowed slowly and hoped my next words didn’t come out shaky. “Honestly, I don’t have much in my life I care about outside gymnastics.”

“Your family?”

Family was an exaggeration.
Can two people be called a family?
We were a duo, a pair—hardly a family. Erik’s gaze met mine across the island and I stilled at the intrusion. His blue eyes were searching, trying to see past my facade and dig out my insides. When he looked at me like that, I had an unexplainable urge to back up, to hold him at arm’s length and ensure he didn’t get any closer…but then I realized that though it felt like it, he couldn’t read my mind. He couldn’t know how much he affected me, so I eased the tension in my shoulders and answered him on my terms.

“My mom is great. She gave up a lot so I could compete when I was younger.”

“And your dad?”

My instincts told me he knew more, but then I reminded myself it was a simple question. Most people have two parents.

“I never knew him.”

I didn’t need to elaborate. There really wasn’t more to say; I didn’t miss someone I’d never met.

“What about friends?” he asked, sensing my desire to move on from the subject.

I tilted my head toward the guesthouse and offered a small smile. “You’re already familiar with them.”

He nodded and tossed his fork in the sink. It rattled against the shiny stainless steel.

“And boyfriends?” His voice was rough, like sandpaper against my nerves. “What about them?”

I laughed, thinking he was making a joke, but when I met his gaze over the island, my breath caught in my throat. He was serious. Dead serious. He had his hands propped up on the granite counter, and he was leaning closer, studying me. It felt like a game even then. He was baiting me, daring me.

I blushed and glanced away. “I’ve had a few.”

I could see his faint smile out of the corner of my eyes.

“Yeah? Did they last long?”

“A few months. Nothing serious.”

I was answering like a suspect in a cross-examination, as if my attorneys had counseled me to offer no more information than was necessary.