“Hannah?”
“Y-yes?”
“If you truly want to make it, youwillneed to work harder than any other gymnast before you.”
Not even his warning can dim my excitement. I nod and then push outside. As I walk to my car, I close my eyes and tilt my head up to the sky. It’s been raining on and off this week, but I don’t need the sun on my face to bask in the warm, fuzzy feelings.
Yes, there’s still the issue of paying for the gym but I’m not about to let that stop me. I’ll figure it out. I can get a part-time job coaching or… I don’t know how but Iwillfind a way.
Smiling, I open my eyes. I know who I need to tell immediately.
Me
I’m in! Prepare to be sick of me.
Kinsley
I knew it! Congratulations! Now you have to come to Vegas! We need to celebrate!!!!!!!!!!!!
I start to give her all the really valid reasons I can’t, but something stops me. Maybe it’s the number of exclamation points or maybe it’s just the idea of celebrating this huge moment with my friend, but for some reason I find myself saying yes.
8
TRAVIS
“Happy Birthday!” Across the table, D-Low raises his glass.
Shep does the same with a dip of his chin. “Happy Birthday, man.”
“Thanks.” I lift my drink toward them and then take a sip of my bourbon. It’s an expensive drink kind of night. “I appreciate you guys coming.”
“It’s tradition,” D-Low says with a shrug of one shoulder.
“I know it isn’t easy to get away and that you could have used the weekend off to see family or relax.”
“What the hell are you yapping about? I look forward to this trip every year.” His gaze lifts above my head.
We’re sitting in the middle of a busy bar and the people-watching is fantastic. Hot people everywhere, drinking and laughing and looking to have a good time. For some reason, I can’t seem to summon my usual excitement for it. Fuck, what a boring old man I’m becoming.
He smiles at a group of women that strut past us even turning his head to keep on staring. D-Low doesn’t seem to be having any such problem enjoying himself.
A small laugh slips from my lips. “I love how you say that like we’ve been doing it for a decade.”
This is only the second year, so even calling it a tradition is a bit of a stretch.
When he finally pulls his stare away from the hot women parade and glances back to me, he’s grinning. “It’s a yearly thing that I hope we continue until I’m an old, married man.”
“Why old?” Shep asks.
“I can’t imagine getting married until at least thirty-five.”
Shep’s body moves with a quiet chuckle. “I don’t think most people would consider thirty-five old.”
“In hockey years it is,” D-Low insists.
He isn’t wrong. By mid to late thirties, most guys are slowing down and thinking about a second career.
“What about you?” Shep asks me.
