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Before I could respond, another photo came in. My eyes widened and my breath caught in my throat. This time I was on my back, arms relaxed above my head, crossing over each other. My nipples prodded the thin layer of my shirt that rested extremely low on my chest. Low enough that when I zoomed in, I could see the raspberry outline of my areola. My heart pounded against my ribs so hard I could feel the pulse in my neck.
Me: Kova...
Coach: You say I have never been satisfied. This is proof that I have.
Me: Of me sleeping?
Coach: Yes.
This was insane! I prayed to God he didn't have them in plain sight.
Me: Where do you keep them? Please tell me not in your photo stream.
Coach: No, of course not. I have secret apps hidden inside other apps. They require passwords. No one will find them.
Me: Okay, that's not creepy at all. I had no idea that was even possible.
Coach: Anything is possible if you want it bad enough.
Me: How many do you have of me?
Coach: Plenty more. Does it bother you?
I paused and weighed his question before answering honestly.
Me: It should bother me, but no, not really. I like them. They remind me of Katja's boudoir ones.
Coach: Trust me, these are far better than a boudoir picture. It is you in your natural environment. Beautiful.
Beautiful. A word suddenly laced with want and desire. I'd never forget it.
Kova sent another photo. The room was draped in darkness, save a shadow of light coming from the hallway. My knees were pulled up and bent, one ankle draped over the other. The hem of my shirt rested on my flat belly and my pale pink bikini panties showed. I looked alluring. I had no idea I could incite such a response while I slept. Another came in, the same position, only my leg had fallen onto the bed, exposing the center of my body. The dark hairs I hadn't shaved that day showed in a triangle at my center. I realized it was the night of the ice bath, when he stayed over.
Me: Why do you have images of me like this in your phone?
Coach: They remind me to look and not touch.
Me: Lol! It’s not possible for you to look and not touch.
Coach: You make me crazy when I am around you. All I can think about is touching you.
All the air left my lungs. I saw him seven days a week, a good ten to fifteen hours on days when I didn't have tutoring. He always had his hands on me during practice and our private classes. And yet that wasn't enough. He needed pictures of me.
This man confused me to no end. Just when I think I've figured him out, he hits me with something new, and it's as if I'd never known him at all.
Me: You make me look beautiful.
Coach: I do not do anything. It is all you, malyshka.
Me: Malyshka? I thought it was malysh.
Coach: My phone will autocorrect to the correct spelling. It is actually malyshka, but I shortened it to malysh. It is like equivalent to babe.
Seconds turned to minutes turned to silence. Figuring this was a good place to end the conversation, I placed my phone down and went to pick up my clothes I had dropped on the floor earlier. We'd never texted like this, and while I found myself liking it much more than I should, it struck a worry of fear through me. There had been no evidence of our relationship before, and now there was.
Coach: What would you title this photo? I want your first thought.
My stomach tightened as I sat rock steady waiting for the image to come through. Something in my gut told me it would be more suggestive.
