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“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I say back.
Halfway through the gym, I notice I’m wearing compression socks and no shoes. Too late to turn back, though. I lift up my chin and march on.
When I push through the gym doors, the nearest Bolts stop what they’re doing and stare at me. Especially my feet. My back throbs to the tune of my rapid heartbeat, but I ignore it. Everything will feel so much better once the mission is complete.
A couple of the Bolts’ coaches eye me with trepidation as I walk across the floor. As if a single girl could really cause significant damage to twenty men.
Soon, it becomes clear who my target is. One of Cassiano’s buddies takes one look at me and says something I can’t quite catch. The Bolts’ captain is in the middle of a series of pull-ups, wearing headphones, a backward cap, and no shirt.
Of course. This couldn’t be easy, huh? He couldn’t have been wearing a parka.
His back is to me, which means I get the full display of shoulder, arm, and back muscles working as he pulls his body weight up and down. Actually, more than his body weight. There are training weights tied around his ankles.
Ugh. Por qué tiene que estar tan bueno?
I stop behind him for a second, taking a bracing breath.
“Bro,” his buddy says, pointing at me.
Max stops, glances back. I catch his eyes widen for a moment before he eases himself down the bar. He rips the headphones off.
“What are you doing here, Tinker Bell?”
Making a fool of myself, obviously.
No, Luz. You got this.
“We need to have a word.”
Coach Green appears beside me. “Is everything okay here?”
When I face him, I’m wearing my sweetest, most polite expression ever. “Everything’s fine, Coach. Just need to have a word with Cassiano, captain to captain.”
The distrust in his expression—in everyone’s—is a bit insulting. Not gonna lie.
“Is that so?”
I smile even sweeter as I look up at said captain. “In private.”
To his credit, Max takes stock of all the Peeping Toms and nods.
“One sec.” He crouches down to take off the weights from his ankles and drops the headphones on a nearby bench. I note that he doesn’t pick up the T-shirt strewn on it, but I don’t remark on it. “Lead the way, Tinker Bell.”
Let’s see if he learns how to use my name after this.
My braid swings as I turn. I don’t know if the sweat trickling down my skin is because I just finished a game or because of what I’m about to do. I walk us out of the gym, through the hallway, and into the empty equipment room. And lock the door.
“Did you know you’re not wearing shoes?”
I turn to face him and fold my arms. “And did you know you’re not wearing a shirt?”
As if he forgot, Cassiano runs a hand across his abs and looks down. “Oh, yeah. Be right back.”
But I block the door.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Tinker Bell?”
What is more nerve racking? Facing a tough opponent in the way before the net? Or working up the courage to kiss a guy?
