Veronica moves the couch from the wall to face the gym floor. “At least Volkov beat him to a bloody pulp. Serves him right. Bastard.”
Knowing Ward’s in concussion protocol too does little to ease the inferno of anger every time I think about how he ended my season, at least for the foreseeable future.
“I never knew you were thisviolent,” Finley says to Veronica from the stationary bike, where she’s pedaling faster, further into her warm-up. I didn’t realize she was listening.
Veronica winks. “The way I torture you in practice wasn’t a hint?”
I’d never dream of teasing my coach, Erik Pomroy, like this. Or I mean, I have in the past, but he never plays along. I never want to play for anyone else though. He loves the sport as much as I do. He wants a win as much as any of us. After one of his intense pregame speeches, I’d run through a brick wall if he asked.
“Hop down and show Zach your best gymnastics.”
I take a seat on the couch, resting my arms behind my head and sinking deep into the cushions. Finley’s gaze darts over to me, but she says nothing. She dismounts from the bike and walks to the floor to stretch.
Her muscles flex as she moves, displaying the strength required to compete in her sport. Finley places her hands on the ground, then lifts her legs into a handstand. She holds herself there for at least thirty seconds before slowly descending back to the ground, but instead of landing on her feet, she slides into a split. Our eyes meet again because I never stop watching her.
Finley doesn’t turn away from my stare, her bright blue eyes electric, the apples of her cheeks pink. Is sheblushing?
It’s probably from the exertion of her warm-up, but dammit if I don’t want her to blush from knowing thatI’mher audience.
Two hours later, Veronica leaves Finley to work on her routines alone so she can focus on other aspects of her job. I’m sitting on a mat next to the bars where Finley swings in ways that shouldn’t be possible, but she makes it look so easy.
She’s a shooting star of dark blue today with flashes of gold and silver jewels on her chest and abdomen and sheer sleeves that reach her wrists. Every time she releases the bar and grabs it again, an explosion of chalk rains through the air.
“Ready to see something cool?” she shouts.
As if everything I’ve already seen doesn't fucking mesmerize me.
Finley propels herself around the bar, body straight as a board, again and again until she lets go, twisting and turning before her feet smack the mat. Her face breaks into a devastating smile, full of the same joy that floods me when my team scores a goal. My breath catches, seeing her face light up like this.
So often, she seems subdued, but not here in this gym. Gymnastics might be my new favorite sport because of how happy it makes Finley.
“Do you not want to meet cute college girls because you have a girlfriend?”
Her voice jolts me from my stupor, and I’m a little stunned by her question. She asks as if it were a logical extension of a conversation we were most definitely not having.
When my blank stare goes on for too long, she adds, “Earlier, you said you didn’t add theexperience collegething to the list to meet girls. So are you already with someone?”
Finley fiddles with the grips on her hands while I try not to let my mind run wild with reasons why she might be asking. She walks to the bowl of chalk—clearly, there isn’t enough floating in the air around us—and drops her hands inside, concealing whatever prep she does for bars.
I clear my throat, and hopefully all my nerves with it. “No girlfriend.”
“Because you’re not a relationship guy?”
I’m not following her jumps in logic, but I’m also not entirely sure she’s making any. Finley’s incredibly skilled at getting answers by rephrasing questions.
“Not for the reasons you’re implying.”Or for the reasons I think you’re implying, if only I could tell where the hell this is coming from.
Her gaze snaps to me, and her nose wrinkles. “And what reasons are those?”
I push myself to my feet because it’s too strange to talk to her about this while looking up from the ground. “I know what people think when they hear hockey player. It’s the same for any young athlete—”
“Young, dumb, and full of cum?” Finley raises an eyebrow, a half smile on her lips.
I laugh, slowly shaking my head. “No one would know how crass you are just by looking at you.”
“Butyouknow,” she says, her half smile turning mischievous. “After all, I’m the girl who let you come on her chest, remember?”
Fuck me.Like I’d ever forget.
