“Brie! Did he see us?”
I sighed and slumped down to the floor. “No. We’re safe.”
The next day, before practice, I carried my pre-wrap and tape over to the vault and hopped up to sit on the edge. My right leg dangled off the side and I bent my left leg, bringing my foot close enough so I could twist the pre-wrap around my ankle. I’d sprained it a few years back and it rarely bothered me these days, but I liked to take extra precautions this close to a big competition.
My earbuds were in, my pre-workout playlist blaring at nearly full volume. After a few days in the house with the team, I needed a few minutes of peace and quiet, just me and my music. I hit play on the next song and then nearly jumped out of my skin as a large hand hit my lower back.
“Here, let me do it,” Erik said.
My body’s reaction to him was swift and all consuming. Tingles spread through my fingers, my stomach plummeted, and my breath came short.
I pulled the earbuds out of my ears and glanced up in time to watch him circle the back of the vault and come to stand in front of me. He was wearing a black t-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest and shoulders. Thanks to our first encounter and the reminder I’d gotten the day before, I knew exactly what he was hiding beneath the thin cotton, and though I hated to admit it, I’d spent another night dreaming of that chest.
He held his hand out for the pre-wrap, assuming I’d just give in to his demand.
“I’ve got it, I’m pretty good at it,” I insisted, clutching the roll.
He smirked and worked the roll out of my hand. “I’m better.”
I shook my head and laughed. His confidence—no, arrogance—really knew no bounds.
“Or so you think.”
I saw his brow arch with amusement just before he stepped closer to the vault. His height made it so his hips were level with mine and with my knee bent, he was nearly standing between my legs. I inhaled a shaky breath. I should have scooted farther back against the vault, put a little distance between us, but I wasn’t going to be the first to retreat.
He didn’t ask before he took my ankle in his palm. His hand was massive and I knew if he closed his fist, his fingers would touch around my ankle. He unwound the pre-wrap I’d just taken my time securing in place and tossed it aside to start fresh. He ran his finger along the back of my Achilles, forcing me to flex my foot to ensure the wrap was in the right spot.
“I usually like to—”
His eyes sliced up to me, warning me to stop while I was ahead. I sighed and leaned back on the vault, letting him do as he pleased.
“Right. Just keep doing what you’re doing, then.”
He chuckled, smooth and low. “Was planning on it.”
I shook my head. “You know, if you weren’t my coach, I’d say you were kind of an asshole.”
He paused and glanced up from beneath his dark lashes. “But since I am your coach…”
His blue eyes seared into me and my stomach dipped. From a distance, his eyes looked like a simple, solid blue, but up close I could see that wasn’t the case; there was a dark blue ring around the iris, darkening the cerulean blue to something more intriguing. His eyes were so gravitational, I had to resist the urge to bend closer and get an ever better look at them.
Instead, I turned away. “I’ll just think it then.”
He laughed and tossed the pre-wrap aside. I handed him my role of athletic tape and his fingers brushed mine. The proximity was unsettling. I’d been this close to dozens of coaches over the years and I’ve never thought anything of it. Yet sitting there, letting Erik wrap my ankle felt charged and intimate, and the more I thought about it, the worse it became. My cheeks flushed as his hand cradled my calf. He wound the tape around and around and I prayed he would finish soon.
“Well if it helps you train, you can think whatever you’d like,” he countered. “I only care about results.”
I nodded, unsure of my next move.
“What were you listening to?” he asked, as if sensing my awkwardness.
“Oh,” I said, reaching for my forgotten MP3 player. “A little bit of everything. It’s my pre-workout playlist.”
“A little bit of everything, huh? What was playing before I got here?”
I pulled up the playlist and hit play on the first song. He angled his ear to me and I reached forward to slip the earbud in for him. For a few seconds, I sat and watched him listening to the song, hoping he’d like it.
A slow-spreading smile overtook lips. “The Lumineers.”
I grinned. “Bingo.”
He handed me back the earbud. “I saw them at ACL a few years back.”
“Really? I wish I could have been there.”
He smiled. “It was a good show.”
I nodded in agreement. “Seattle to Austin is pretty far to travel for good music though.”
He shrugged and tossed the tape aside, finished. “I was down visiting my mom.”
I nodded. Of course. I’d forgotten he had a connection to the city.
He stepped back and assessed my ankle. I took a deep breath, aware for the first time that the air had been spiked with his body wash; when he’d stepped away, he’d taken the scent with him.
“Come to me from now on when you want it wrapped. It’s too close to Rio to risk fucking it up.”
I liked the way he said that word: no apologies, no remorse.
I hopped off the vault and tested out the tape. It felt ten times better than when I did it myself, but I would never admit that to him.