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“As for the rest of you, I decide who you all train with, and as of right now, she is with us.” Kova turned toward me and gave a pointed look. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”
“Not at all,” I lied.
Yeah...This was definitely going to be a big problem. Like when your gynecologist is hot kind of problem.
“Good, let us carry on and finish the tour so your parents can get you settled. I expect you here early Monday morning.”
I nodded and we walked over to the men’s team, where they were sharpening their skills to perfection. Just when I thought gymnastics couldn’t get any tougher, I observed the brute strength it took for a male gymnast to balance himself on the rings while keeping them steady with very little movement. It was quite impressive to watch their arms slowly extend out to the sides, perpendicular to their bodies while their legs were straight and together to perform an Iron Cross. The control along with the upper body muscle it took was utterly astounding and probably why females were unable to do it.
“Gentlemen, this is Adrianna Rossi. She is a level ten but will be joining the senior girls to train.”
There were three senior gymnasts Coach introduced, Alexander, Gavin, and Hayden. Solid bodies with flawlessly sculpted, vascular arms. Their shoulders were carved and contoured, the silky smooth skin curved around the tissue and hugged the muscle underneath beautifully. And the best part was it was all natural muscle from years of training, not the steroid-induced kind of shit.
There was something about a male gymnast’s body that just did it for me. They yielded so much power and control. It was beauty hiding in plain sight.
I waved. “Hi,” I said shyly, and they gave a few polite smiles.
Basketball shorts hung low with form fitted shirts that stuck to their bodies from exertion. One guy, I think his name was Hayden, was shirtless and had that boy next door charm written all over him. Washboard abs, dimples on both cheeks, and perfectly straight, white teeth. He had it all. This guy could cut steel on his abs, which were covered in powdery white chalk. And the V all girls went crazy for—sharp as a knife and pointed right down to his groin. I couldn’t help but admire it. But the best part of him, by far, were his arms. From his broad shoulders to his wrists, his honey colored skin glowed with vitality.
I knew my main focus was to train with the best, but they were going to make focusing more difficult. They were definitely not bred like this back home. At least not at my old gym that was for sure. That whole no boyfriend thing no longer sounded as easy as I’d originally thought.
“I usually have the men’s and women’s senior teams train at the same time in the early morning,” Coach said.
My coach. I still couldn’t get over the fact he was the coach. Or that my mouth got me into trouble once again. I never knew when to keep it shut.
“They will take a lunch break or go to school and then the younger ones come around mid-afternoon for practice. After that, the seniors come back and train for another couple of hours.”
Konstantin led us down the hallway and back to the lobby. His shoulders were massively wide, the dress shirt he wore stretched across his back. He was rolled tight, and it was apparent now he was once a gymnast. At first glance, he looked like any regular guy in casual business attire.
I kid. That was such a lie. He definitely didn’t look like any other guy—other guys weren’t built like him. No gymnast’s body could ever be considered regular.
Turning around, Konstantin’s chin slowly dipped, giving us a solid stare. “Now that we have cleared everything up, I will let you guys go. My gymnasts need me,” he said to my parents before turning to me. “Adrianna, it has been a pleasure. I look forward to our first workout where you will be evaluated to see what you are suitable for.”
My jaw dropped for the thousandth time since entering World Cup. I hoped this wasn’t a precursor for what was to come. My heart pounded, prickly heat coated my arms, and I was sure my blood pressure was steadily rising. This had to be a fucking joke.
“What do you mean evaluate me? I am suitable for elite. With my age alone, you have to train me for senior elite. I can’t be in any other level. I’m supposed to start the program so I can test this season. That’s why I’m here.” I had to be with elite by the rules set forth by USA Gymnastics. Not what he wanted.
He raised a brow, his green eyes scolding me once again. With the amount of staring he had done since I stepped through the door, I felt like I needed to decipher his thoughts through his eyes as if he was too lazy to open his mouth to speak his mind.
“I am well aware what the guidelines are. However, I am your coach now, so I will be making the decision to see which level I think you are fit for, which skills you will learn and master,” he stated. “You will train with the seniors and do your previous routines for now until I do my assessment, along with the other coaches. We will decide if, and when, you can practice for senior elite.”
“Ana,” my father said, demanding my attention. Dad read the expression on my face and knew I was ready to contest his comment.
Pursing my lips together, I grinded my teeth. I wasn’t sure what he thought he could do. It wasn’t as if he could just change the rules everyone who trained in the United States had to follow just to suit him. The sole reason I came to World Cup was to be in the elite program, and I’d make damn sure I did.
I hadn’t even officially started training and I was already frustrated with my new coach.
Like most nights, dinner was stiff and uncomfortable. Mother eyed my plate as she shifted her food, trying to appear as if she was eating, which she hardly did. She had an image to maintain, which meant I did as well. I had to be careful with consumption when she was around. I was cautious in general due to gymnastics, but she just made it much more stressful.
“So you have everything you need, Ana?” Dad stated more than asked the question. He washed his steak down with a glass of bourbon. They were getting ready to drive back home.
My parents had been doing better with letting a little rope go the past few
years with less and less restrictions. I had three rules I had to follow. Don’t get arrested, don’t do drugs, and be home by curfew. I was still a teenager, but living the Palm Beach lifestyle is like growing up in Hollywood—you matured much faster and fended for yourself. So those rules were not always easy to abide by for my brother. You were thirteen going on eighteen. Parents were hardly present and money was thrown around left and right for anything their kids wanted. Old money, new money. The upper crust with Gucci squad kids. To the outside youth, it was what every teenager dreamed of having—money, fame, and fortune. But it all came with a price.
“I do.”
“Use your Centurion Card for anything you need.”
