AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Knock it off, I scowled inwardly. You can’t think about her breasts. As far as you’re concerned, she doesn’t have breasts.
Listen. I couldn’t get involved with a player, sure, but I couldn’t even have stray romantic thoughts about a player. It was wrong. It was, according to my contract, against the rules. It was gross — I was at least six or seven years older than them, probably more. I simply couldn’t be having these feelings.
And yet.
The girls threw their bags to all corners of the room while I mentally slapped myself for thinking about Catya in that way, in a decidedly, er, sexual way. This job might be tougher than I’d thought.
Circuit work began without issue. I suppose I could describe it at greater length, but frankly, it’s not thrilling stuff. You know when you’re forced to listen to muscle guys talk about their protein routine? It’s like that. I can’t imagine anyone cares, unless they’re the body in question.
I supervised, expecting to have to enforce the training protocol. Their earlier resistance suggested they’d need a little more cajoling. I was wrong. The minute they’d gotten over the hump, they were strong athletes. Granted, I suspected I wasn’t seeing their best, but I’d settle for a good effort.
Meanwhile, I walked around with my camera, snapping photos and learning names. They struck goofy poses, and I repeated their names several times, attempting to burn them into my brain with mixed results.
Finally, I got around to Catya’s side of the room. She was doing the mile on the treadmill, and I stood to the side, watching in wonderment. She was fast. I was a quick motherfucker, but she could take me in a race. Against my will, I noted that she, like the other girls, was wearing booty shorts. They were standard fare for women’s volleyball, and occasionally leaked over into other collegiate women’s sports. The trend used to baffle me — were these things even practical? — but now I was grateful.
Catya’s lithe body sprinted, and I watched her ass, mesmerized. She was neither short nor tall, and built differently than the other girls. While they tended to be straight up and down, like the average soccer player, Catya had curves, small ones, but definite curves. A firm butt, wider hips, smaller waist. Her smooth ponytail moved rhythmically, slapping against her back. What I was doing was wrong… right? Watching her like this?
I shuddered and tried to retreat from my own mind, with mixed success. At last, she slowed down on the treadmill, her mile finished. She panted, grabbed a nearby towel, and swiped it across her forehead.
Catya turned and saw me.
“Hey,” she said between breaths.
“You’re fast,” I replied. “Very fast. I’m impressed.”
She smiled. “Yeah, I am. Thanks.”
Confident. How cheeky.
“Can I take your picture?” I asked.
She stepped off the treadmill, coming down to my height. Well, relatively — I still towered over her.
“How would you like me?” she returned, her voice quiet beneath the rumble of the nearby machines.
The question set me back on my heels. She couldn’t talk like this. Rather, I couldn’t listen to her talk like this.
“Up against the wall,” I said. The innuendo escaped neither of us. A haze of pink showed on her cheeks, and I relished that sudden outburst of blood. It mirrored the blood I felt rushing to other areas of my own body.
I could have her up against the wall in so very many ways.
She walked to the wall then spun around to face me. I held up my camera and Catya looked into its lens, gaze sure and steady. It reminded me vaguely of a class trip to Ireland. We’d wandered through the grassy knolls of a hillside in the gray fog. Upon reflection, I wasn’t not sure what the point of the journey was, maybe just to get us city kids outside in the fresh air. But the grass and the gray and the movement within the stillness — she reminded me of it. Or rather, it reminded me of her. All frenetic energy contained within a placid form.
I was just about to snap the picture when she appeared to change her mind. Catya reached behind her, and deftly pulled the scrunchie out of her hair. Clouds of curly, brunette hair tumbled around her shoulders, curls so well sculpted they seemed to have been each individually coiled by a master artist.
“Okay,” she murmured. “I’m ready.”
I took the picture.
Chapter 5
Catya
I hovered next to Simon, waiting for the Polaroid to develop. The other girls raced nearby, doing sets, sweating, occasionally talking. Music played from nearby speakers, some ‘90s rap. Simon’s choice? If so, a strong one.
Simon’s wide shoulders hunched over the tiny print out, his crisp blue eyes staring into its depths. Incidentally, I was unsure if I’d ever been so close to such a gorgeous man. Not handsome. I mean, yes, handsome, but more than that.
