But Jared, he just sneers. “And I wasn’t aware you cared at all about what I do or who I am.”
It only stings a little.
“All I care about is that you catch me properly in this group number. I’m an elite gymnast, I’m not used to falling.”
“Funny, as an elite gymnast, shouldn’t you have been in Rio?”
Jared’s words cut a little deeper, the one wound he knows he can stick a knife in and twist.
“Eh, the Games are overrated anyhow. You have one medal, you have them all.” I flick my hand, trying my best to come off as uncaring and nonchalant.
“Yeah well, I have twelve. But who’s counting?” He smirks, lifting his fist until Duke bumps it.
I’m not used to cocky Jared, and his egotistical attitude starts a fire below my waist that licks at my core and swamps my neck in heat. It always was a turn on to me, how aggressive he was, how traditional he wanted to be in his role as a man and mine as a woman. Many women realize that letting a man be the dominant one in a relationship is a choice we make; we allow them to think they’re in charge. Very few times however, are they truly the alpha.
In Jared’s case, he’s always the one pulling the strings. He knows what I’m thinking before I even say or do it; I’m not the puppet master behind him allowing him to think he’s calling the shots. He really is. Or … was. His dominance and alpha male personality should be a huge turn off to a free spirit like me.
Instead, I’m always drawn toward him like a moth to a flame. Jared could never be good for me, but I want to experience him, taste him, so badly that it doesn’t matter if I get burned.
Or well, at least it didn’t. While I’m not running in the opposite direction, I’m also not going anywhere near Jared Hargrove. Because not only will he burn me, he’ll ruin me. Completely.
“All right kiddos, let’s put the claws away. We have a crowd to wow.” Duke steps between us and begins to tickle me, breaking me out of the sour mood his friend put me in.
“Do you hear them out there? It’s got to be like a thousand people!” Anna stares dreamily at the doors two ushers are about to swing open.
“More like forty thousand, baby.” James kisses her head.
The attendants swing the doors open, and then it’s all nothing but flashing lights and cheering. My stomach dips and then solidifies itself.
My favorite part. Thousands of people cheering my name, pouring their adoration straight into me.
7
Jared
You can hate someone and still appreciate their talent. Unfortunately, that rule seems to apply to my thoughts on Peyton.
I can’t stand the woman, but I can’t look away while she’s commanding the floor. I can’t tear my eyes off of her as she transitions from low bar to high bar as if flying was as easy to her as walking.
Peyton attacks the sport of gymnastics like no one I’ve ever seen. She’s all in; pulling her body this way and that in positions you’d think were unattainable. She’s not fearless like some other athletes I know, you can see the chinks in her armor, but the vulnerability only adds to her performance. It makes her just a little more relatable, a little more perfect at her craft because she isn’t perfect.
She’s beautiful and flawed, showing every inch of herself and her personality in her sport. Even if no one realizes it but me. To the crowd, Peyton is one of the best elite gymnasts in the world, incapable of failing even with her marred record after this past Trials. She is their celebrity, the one they’ll follow both in the sport of gymnastics and the tabloids.
But to me, she’s ethereal. Her strength and grace intertwine perfectly in every routine, creating the balance that scores perfect tens. I know that she’s thinking about each pointed toe as she swings around the bar, that she’s fueling herself off the high of flying as she releases and curls her body into a twirling, flipping dismount.
Peyton once told me that she felt the most free in her life when she was grasping air. I hadn’t understood what that meant at the time. But being able to watch her now, I think I get it. There are a couple of seconds when a gymnast releases the bar, either to transition to the other one if you’re a female gymnast, or to throw a release move. You’re floating through the air, waiting to get close enough to latch your hands safely onto that chalky cylinder. In that space of time in between though … it’s as if the clocks stop. The world stops turning. The question of if you’ll land safely or if you’ll crash and burn is the only thing on your mind, and it’s heart-palpitatingly good. It’s a slow burn, a perfect high. For those few seconds, you’re super human.
I see the emotion and giddiness rage through Peyton as she whizzes through the air, circling her body between the unevens using nothing but her hands. And as much as I tell myself I need to despise her, poison myself against her … in this moment, it’s impossible.
“Are we there yet?”
There is that annoying whining again.
“Dude, if you don’t stop, I’m going to pummel you. We have two whole months left with each other on this tour bus, and if you’re asking that question every other minute, I’m going to throw you off while it’s doing eighty down the highway.”
Duke grimaces at my imaginative answer. “But I’m just so cooped up already. They couldn’t have gotten us like a PlayStation for this thing or something?”
My mouth drops open. “Duke, we’ve only been on this bus for forty-five minutes. We’re only going from New York to Philly. It’s like, two hours!”
“And haven’t you heard of your cellphone? You know, the device that has over a million downloadable games to play?” Ryan chimes in, shaking his head at our dumbass teammate.
Duke jumps up into his top bunk, the cabin bed way too small for his large frame. I’m not sure who picked these buses for us to ride the entire tour in, because they did a terrible job. Six dudes in a tiny metal box with one bathroom and beds that barely fit our legs, let alone the rest of our bodies? Yeah, horrible decision.
“I feel like a fat guy in a tiny jacket!” Duke wiggles around in his bunk, butt ass naked except for his boxers.
“It’s a little coat. You can’t even get the joke right …” I shake my head, throwing his discarded T-shirt up at him. “And can you pick up after yourself a little bit. This isn’t Filipek’s, although I almost murdered you there for how dirty you made our room. If you get this bus filthy, I’ll shank you.”
“Damn, Hargrove, you’re more drill sergeant than I thought.” Ryan chuckles, pulling open a tiny cabinet and popping open a can of peanuts.
“Can I switch buses yet?” Grumbling, James buries his head in his phone. He’s probably texting Anna, which is his favorite activity after gymnastics.
“I’m not sure why they didn’t just give you and Anna your own car. A nice little lovebird’s bang van to nest in.” Duke cracks up at his own joke.
“Or maybe a nice little Prius to drive cross country.” Ryan joins in.
“Fuck off, assholes. At least I’ve got a girl who loves me. Y’all just have your right hand.”
“And man does it get the job done. Much less complicated than a girlfriend, too.” Duke mimics jerking himself off.
I laugh, throwing up the façade I always do when the talk turns back to girls. I’ve tried to date in the past four years, since … well. But it’s never been the same. I can’t get into any of the women I talk to or meet, they don’t hold my interest for a few days, or even a few seconds. Not to mention, one too many of them only want me because of who I am. I’m not interested in a WAG, someone who is just after an athlete’s celebrity and money, whatsoever.
Whenever I’m around the guys and they, as guys typically do, inevitably turn the conversation to girls, boobs, ass and sex … I go quiet. I know I do it. No one has called me out on it before but Spence, and of course he knows the bare bones of what went down with Peyton and I. Even if it was for just a short amount of time, a moment as beautiful and fleeting as a solar eclipse, she broke something insi
de of me when it ended.
What happened between Peyton and I was jarring to my heart, like it was slammed from every side. Concussed. And I didn’t want to revisit it, ever. Especially not to go over the details of our sex.
Because I’d never found anything like that over the past four years either. I’d never even come close. And I don’t mean I hadn’t come close to finding the same connection, I mean, I’ve literally not gotten close to having sex with a woman since Peyton Adams ran out of my life.
That surely wasn’t a secret I wanted to disclose to anyone, especially my teammates.
8
Peyton
“The shower feels like you’re in a coffin. A moving, wet, coffin.”
Julia towels off her hair in the narrow galley hallway of the tour bus, a grim look on her face. Not that any of us are much more pleased than her about our living quarters for the next twelve weeks.
“I wish we had some decent lighting in here, too. It’s making it really hard to do my schoolwork.” Quinn whines from a top bunk. Which also oddly resembles a coffin.
“Shit, homework? I forgot you were still just a wee girl. Why don’t you just get your GED instead? You just won an Olympic medal, not like you’ll need school now?” I pushed the spine of a textbook threatening to fall off the top ledge and decapitate someone.
“Are you crazy? I want my high school diploma, and plan to go to college. I can’t ride through life on my gold medals.”
“Don’t tell Peyton that. She’s been trying, and mildly succeeding for the past four years to do just that.” Julia winks at Quinn.
The whole bus is a moving, screeching coffin. But at least there are people around. The girls may hate this, but secretly, I’m enjoying it. It’s been awhile since I had constant companions. Since the throbbing loneliness in my chest dulled to a small thud.
“Some of us know how to work the assets we have. What about you Julia? Is it off to college for you after this?” The question wasn’t a sarcastic one.
I was tired of trading barbs with Julia. She was close with Nat, who was my best friend. I should have been able to get along with her, but our similar personalities and quest of vying for Nat’s attention cast a jealous stone between us.
“I don’t know, but at least I could get in.”
Guess my effort to smooth things over was going to take some more work.
“Peyton could go to college if she really wanted to, she’s smart as hell. But I have a feeling she and college might not get along.” Nat stretches her body out in her bottom bunk as she awakes from a nap.
“I’d scare those professors so bad,” I giggle.
“What’s for dinner? I’m starved.” Nat pats her flat abs and licks her lips.
Where my best friend is toned and slim without having to try, it’s more of a struggle for me. I’ve always been a bit curvy. Skinny, yes, but with natural girlish curves that not even hours of gymnastics and conditioning could get rid of. Men don’t seem to mind though.
I twist my black waves through my fingers. “We have to go to Jim’s, of course. The best cheesesteak place in all of Philly.”
“Cheesesteaks?” Anna looks disgusted. “My calorie count definitely can’t afford that.”
I roll my eyes as Nat’s light up at the sound of real food. “Come on, live a little! The Games are over, you are still working out and burning plenty more than the average person a day. You can afford to have some finger licking cheesy goodness.”
“Yeah, I can’t argue with that. I’m in.” Julia surprises me by putting her opinion on the same side as my own.
Philly is a funny city. Much less gritty than New York, but tougher in a sense, more jaded. There are no bright lights and wild dreams in South Philly, a working class part of the grid who works hard and parties harder.
I remember spending New Year’s here two years ago with an older guy I’d met, and waking up to string bands flooding the streets. Those beautiful, sequined costumes, the carnival music, the dancers putting on a spectacular show even in the below freezing weather. It was magical.
Excitement flooded me at returning to Philadelphia. I loved New York, but this city felt more real, the people in it loyal and hard working.
It only takes us half an hour to make our way down to Jim’s, the line wrapped around the block and down the street on a busy Friday night.
“I might get about three or four steaks. All cheese whiz.” A southern twang hits my ears and sends lustful zings down to pool uneasily in my core.
God, that voice. Like melting butter and dark chocolate. It’s syrupy and deep, and has always made sweat roll down the back of my neck. A man shouldn’t be allowed to possess something so lethal.
“I’d do one or two with real cheese. Nothing like melted American on these babies.” I try to make casual conversation as I turn to Jared.
“Because you always know best, right?” I don’t miss the daggers his dark brown pools shoot at me.
I huff. “I was only trying to make a nice suggestion, but you can do whatever you want.”
“Are you two going to hate fuck soon, or are we all going to be subjected to these three-year-old arguments the whole trip?” Duke brushes past us, apparently just as fed up with our bickering as I am.
I touch Jared’s elbow before he can follow, which only serves to ignite the low fire in my belly even more. “Can we stop this?”
“Stop what?”
“Come on, Jared. You don’t have to like me, but can we at least be cordial? He’s right, we’re going to be on this tour with each other for a while.”
His big body radiates with … what feels like pain. Is it that painful for him to stand near me?
“I told you I’d leave you be, let you do whatever you wanted on your own. I’m holding up my end of the bargain.” He folds his arms across his chest, and even with a down jacket on I can see the muscles bunching underneath.
“Ignoring me and then sending hate missiles with your eyes is not leaving me be. It’s passive aggressive, and childish. We’re here, we’re performing together. We need to let our anger or upset go, for the good of everyone else. It’s three months, and then you never have to pretend to be civil with me again.” I crack a smile, hoping he takes the olive branch I’m struggling to extend.
Jared’s stare is unreadable. “That’s oddly mature of you.”
I shrug. “I’ve picked up a few things since I left Filipek’s. It wasn’t all partying and living the good life.”
There may be a flicker of surprise that passes through his eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly. “Fine. I can be cordial. Hell, if you’re able to do it, there is no way it should be hard for me. Just don’t … I don’t need your drama around me. Don’t bring that to my doorstep, and I won’t bring my vilification to yours.”
It always caught me by surprise, his intelligence. Men who looked like Thor and had the southern charm of Rhett Butler himself weren’t supposed to be geniuses. But then Jared would throw out words like vilification and I’d be reminded that he was one of the smartest people I’d ever met, that he graduated summa cum laude from college.
I stick my hand out, my fingertips sparking with the inevitability of joining with Jared’s in just seconds. “Deal?”
His large, callused hand envelops my own. This handshake means so much more than just a civil acquaintanceship. More emotions than I could ever begin to detail pass through the connections of our joined limbs, and I know this is just the beginning of the rabbit hole we’re bound to fall down.
9
Jared
I don’t love gymnastics for all of the reasons people probably think I do.
At one time, Spence had explained his logic for being drawn to the sport. He loved the feeling of flying, of invincibility. The same was true for a lot of gymnasts I’d encountered.
But for me, it is different.
The best way I can explain it is sex. Which might seem strange, but … let me explain. You’re naked, in the middle of li
cking right up the center of a gorgeous girl. Her breasts are fantastic, swollen and heavy with those rosy little buds perfectly pointed just for you. She’s writhing and moaning and pulling at her long curls. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. So hot, that you could blow your load right there.
But … there is something holding you back. The need to know how far you can push yourself. The excitement of the pain, the burn, rippling through you as you contain your climax. It’s heady, pushing through that pain, seeing how long your body can sustain itself.
Gymnastics is the same way for me. When I’m up on those rings, my arms burning and my breath coming in short, labored puffs … I’m in my glory. The adrenaline that comes from pushing through those barriers, that’s my high. You hear runners talk about the mindset they get in when they finally reach that stage of their workout, where the whole world turns into white noise and it’s nothing but the pounding of their feet and their heartbeat. That’s why I love this sport; that is what has kept me coming back for more all these years.
And that’s how I feel right now, as thousands of fans rain applause down on my head as I execute the perfect Iron Cross. The muscles in my arms are rigid and pulled as tight as they will go, my abs completely flexed as I struggle to breath.
Finally, I drop from the pose, swinging my body around as my hands grasp the circular rings. And then the rings are no longer there as I whip my body through a series of flips and twists. My toes grip the mat as my feet collide with the floor, and then that applause turns into a monstrous roar as I salute the crowd.
“Their Golden Boy strikes again,” Duke slaps me on the back as I run off the arena floor.
“Yeah, how did they like them apples?” James hoots.
I shake my head, laughing. “That’s an awful Good Will Hunting joke.”
Grasping Air (Flipped Book 2) Page 4