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He was all rough edges. Dark blond hair that bounded over his head in waves and ebbs, dropping down into those damned eyes. His bones were hard and high, his cheeks slightly sunken. Up close, I could see that tattoos curled out from beneath the edges of his long sleeve T-shirt. Their shapes were indecipherable. His fingers, which held the photograph, were made for love, not war. I could feel a pounding pulse at the base of my neck.
I forcibly pulled my thoughts back from his strong but slender arms, that narrowing torso and broad chest.
“How’s it look?” I asked, referring to the picture with a casualness I didn’t feel. Why weren’t my nerves vibrating through my voice? Maybe I was tougher than I’d thought.
“Wonderful,” he murmured, then coughed. “I meant, good, it looks good.”
I bent over his arm to examine his photo. My cheek brushed the top of his bicep and I recoiled. I’d like to say it was subtle, but that seems unlikely. The photo was, in fact, wonderful. Even I could admit it.
My mouth was pursed like a flower, parting to let in bees, and hair swallowed my cheeks whole. If my eyes alone could have fucked the camera, they would have. The photo was perfect, but I wasn’t sure it was me. The woman in the picture looked older, wiser, more sexually self-possessed. Her face told a story, like there was history and power behind its hard exterior. I loved it. I loved her.
“Thanks,” I said, finding my voice. I needed to say something, before more uncouth thoughts flew out of my mouth. “Do you take a lot of photos?”
Stupid question. Ugh, Catya. Be cool.
“Yeah,” Simon replied, appearing to take my silly question quite seriously. “I like shooting film. It brings things… I guess into more focus? I don’t know. It helps me see the world more clearly.”
“Can I see them?” I blurted. “The other photos?”
If he’d managed to capture me, young, inexperienced me in such a flattering light, I wondered what he could do with a more adept model or an ancient landscape.
“Sure,” he smiled back. “I’d love to show you.”
We were too close. I pulled away, breaking the tension.
“Okay, I gotta get back to these sets,” I said, a forced smile plastering my face in a mask of easy happiness that didn’t match my insides.
He nodded and we parted ways. I broke the circuit pattern and crossed to the opposite side of the room, anxious to put serious distance between us. Being in his orbit had thrown me out of my own.
I beelined for the squat circuit where Grace was putting in a decent effort.
“What’s up?” I inquired, my voice showing no real interest in the answer. “How are the stations going?”
“Good,” she said with a grin.
I sighed. “Why are you making that face?”
“Oh, you know. Because I didn’t realize eyefucking Simon was one of the stations.”
My voice hitched in its utterance and I squeaked, “What?!”
She rolled her neck, stretching. “You and Simon. In the corner. Taking pictures. It was almost pornographic.”
“It was not!”
“Girl, I saw you take out your ponytail and straight up smolder. Don’t even play with me.”
Well, shit. She wasn’t wrong.
And then Grace added with careful lightness, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
My brow furrowed, confused. “Huh?”
“With Simon,” she continued, her eyes darkening. “Be smart.”
I swallowed through a tight throat. “Right.”
She averted her gaze, returning it to a nearby weight station. “Okay, then.”
Leaving her side wordlessly, I went to another section of the room, Grace’s warning ringing in my ears. She was right, of course. Simon was so off limits it almost seems laughable to discuss the matter. It wasn’t like he was just out of my league, he was my fucking coach. An absolute, complete no-go.
I tried to behave normally through the rest of the practice. Er, sort of. Between us, I’ll admit that I was showing off for Simon. During my squat set I went lower for longer, facing my ass in his direction so that he could take it all in. I did more pull ups than I even knew was possible. I held my wall sits for maybe ten minutes.
The other girls took notice, but thankfully, missed the implication.
“Teacher’s pet,” Nora snickered.
Max added, “Somebody’s trying to impress the new coach.”
“Hey, somebody’s gotta represent for the team,” I shot back.
Nora laughed, and replied, “Mm-hmm,” then moved on.
Clearly, they all thought I was just being my normal self — that was, a kiss ass, a try-hard, a type-A perfectionist. They were so used to me going the extra mile they didn’t even question my motives. Good. I wasn’t prepared to face their loud scrutiny.
Although they weren’t holding up a magnifying glass to my actions, they were examining Simon every which way. In between sets, they whispered to one another how cute he was. Well, more than whispered. These girls weren’t exactly discreet — I wouldn’t be surprised if he caught most of the conversations. How mortifying.
