Page 130 of Salto

Maybe the sand beneath my feet and the salt water on my shins would help.

I grabbed a towel and my house keys, then started down the stairs.

Ten minutes later, my feet met the sand, and the ocean breeze hit my face. I closed my eyes and felt a shiver pass through me.

I made it to the edge of the water. The ice-cold waves rolled over my feet, the foamy whooshing of the waves like music to my ears.

When I opened my eyes again, I stared out at the setting sun and the rosy-orange haziness settling on the horizon.

“I thought there was a tornado happening in your apartment today.”

I jumped, not expecting someone to come up to me.

I turned to see Rove standing a few feet away from me, hands in the pockets of his navy sweatpants. His hair was out of its ponytail, the white-blond strands falling into his face, slightly ruffled by the salty wind.

He was watching me, a bemused expression on his face.

“What are you talking about?”

He pointed up. “My apartment's beneath yours.”

“No—” I shook my head, letting out a sharp laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I’m not.” He bit his lip, fighting back a smile. “I thought after the meet you’d rest or something.”

“I was cleaning,” I said, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he’d just revealed the location of his apartment and that it was directly below mine.

Before I could let that new information sink in, he was questioning me again.

“Cleaning?”

“Yes,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “I was cleaning, okay?”

He raised his hands up in mock surrender at my tone. “Easy, Red. I’m not here to fight.”

“I’m not trying to fight.”

“No?” he asked. “'Cause you look ready to spit fire at me.”

I took a step toward him. "I'm really not in the mood tonight, Coach," I said, emphasizing the Coach with a bit of venom.

His eyes glimmered with amusement, and the sudden urge to smack him across the face passed through me. My hands balled into fists at my sides.

A couple walked past us along the shoreline, laughing quietly to themselves. I waited for them to pass before looking back at him.

His gaze flicked down to my clenched fists, then back to my face.

“Not in the mood to fight? Or not in the mood to talk?”

“Both.”

“Alright.” He nodded. “You don’t want to talk, we don’t have to talk.”

He moved to sit in the sand. Legs stretched out in front of him, crossing one foot over the other. Then he leaned back on his hands. His posture and the way he moved made it feel like he had nowhere else to be.

I stood stubbornly for a few moments before I finally sat down next to him.

I put my hands in my lap, playing with the sand, letting it fall between my fingertips.