Finally, one of them asked a different question, but I wasn’t certain it was better.
“Word is that you were outstanding in practice yesterday. That you’ve always been talented but taken it to a whole new level. If that’s the case, what do you think has helped you reach such an unlikely peak at an age that’s largely considered too old for the sport?”
Arms crossed on my chest and feet shoulder width apart behind the guy asking the questions, I rolled my eyes.
Callie’s eyes came to me.
“My new coach. He’s really helped me look at things in a different way lately.”
My chest squeezed double the amount I considered comfortable, both affection and panic exerting their grip simultaneously.
Just as I suspected it would, the reporter’s interest skyrocketed. “And who is your new coach?”
Callie gestured over his shoulder to me, and I did my best not to cringe. I didn’t want her to feel like she’d done the wrong thing, but I wasn’t excited about the new attention either. The more they watched me, the more I’d have to watch myself, marking my actions in some hollow version of their normal intensity.
I’d have to watch the way I looked at her and spoke to her, and I’d have to do even more than I already had to.
“Nikolai Bagrov,” she touted proudly.
I smiled if only at the affection in her voice.
“He’s the third ranked power tumbler in the world and makes my tumbling look like child’s play.”
I closed my eyes briefly in resignation.
The interviewer turned to me and back again. “What’s he doing coaching you then?”
Callie went to answer, but I cut in and did it before her.
“I’m retired,” I explained simply.
Callie’s eyes opened wide in surprise, perhaps because I hadn’t officially told her, or maybe because I spent all of my nights tumbling with her. She knew I was still in competitive shape, but from the moment my parents died, I’d been done. My heart still loved the sport but I didn’t have the competitive edge.
I just wanted to have fun. And now, I wanted to coach Callie.
I’d deal with what came after that when I got to it.
I did my best to steel my face, schooling my expression in to one of dry disinterest. I didn’t want him to get the inkling that there was something more or less to the decision or that anything about me was worthy of his interest.
The media on scrutiny was well and intrusive enough.
The interviewer shrugged, turning back to Callie to ask more questions.
With a nod and a jerk of my head, I signaled her that it was time to be done.
She understood.
“I don’t want to cut you short, but I’ve really got to get going and get prepared for tomorrow,” she explained with a sweet smile I recognized as fake from a mile away.
No one else was any the wiser.
I knew part of it was a genuine disinterest in the interview, but the other fraction of its plasticity came from me and her inability to get a read on why my mood had taken a nose dive into the shitter.
“Right, no problem. Good luck tomorrow,” the guy agreed easily, knowing the long day she had ahead of her tomorrow and counting it as normal.
“Thanks,” she replied, shaking the man’s hand and coming to meet me where I stood.
“Let’s go,” I directed shortly, careful to walk beside her without touching her as I did.
She could feel the uncertainty wafting off of me, a nervous fidget making her normally smooth walk choppy. But this wasn’t the place to explain, so I ignored it, walking with my eyes pointed on the ground as we weaved through the crowd in the lobby of the hotel, waited on the elevator, climbed on, and rode it in silence to the sixth floor and our rooms.
“My room,” I directed, knowing that the possibility of her father coming to her room was much higher than him coming to mine.
“What?” she asked as soon as the door closed behind us. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Nik.”
Frustrated, I ran my hands down my face, and then pulled off my hat and pushed them through my hair. She shoved my arms out of the way and stepped into my body, wrapping her arms around me and looking up with big eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, concerned.
“Nothing, Cal,” I non-answered.
She glared at me.
I widened my eyes in apology and opened my mouth like a fish before the words formed. “Really. I’m sorry for worrying you. They’re just gonna be watching us now.”
“What do you mean? They were always going to be watching us.”
“No,” I corrected. “They were going to be watching you. I was going to be just another part of the white, fuzzy background noise.”
“Oh,” she mumbled as she tucked her face into my chest , distraught.
“It’s fine.” The cotton of her shirt rasped slightly with the soothing motion of my hands up and down the back of it.
She pulled back enough to look at me again, forcing me to loosen my arms marginally. “I just didn’t think it was fair that I was getting all of the attention when you’re better than I am.”
“I’m not better than you are,” I denied.
“At tumbling?” Her scoff cut the otherwise silent air. “You so are.”
I shook my head good-naturedly, my frustration easily replaced with affection.
Man, I was in deep with her.
“It’s just hard not to touch you,” I admitted, capturing the end of a strand of her long, brown hair and wrapping it tightly around my finger.
“Oh,” she murmured, enlightened. “I understand.”
Her arms tightened their hold, fingertips digging in through the material of my shirt and scraping at the skin underneath. I nodded at how in sync we were. Marveled at how our thoughts seemed to connect to one another.
“You’re horny,” she said simply.
Exactly.
Wait. What?
That wasn’t what I thought she was going to say.
“No—”
“If you wanted me, you just should have said something.”
“Cal—”
“After all,” she said, widening her eyes meaningfully, “We’re alone now.”
Glancing around the dark room, I noticed the drawn curtains and the closed door and the utter silence from the rooms on either side.
Oh. OH.
I smiled and lifted narrowed one eye playfully, dropping my voice to a raspy whisper. “Do you want me, my little Pea?”
Nodding, she smiled in victory, and my body reacted almost immediately. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Would you say that my fulfillment of this want is essential to your focus during the competition tomorrow?” I prompted with a raise of one brow.
“Yes,” she agreed, bouncing her head enthusiastically. “Definitely.”
“So, really, I’m just doing my job,” I reasoned jokingly.
She pushed me to the bed, happiness radiating from her eyes and straight into the heart of me, and broke me with one simple line.
“Come on, Nik.” Climbing me like a jungle gym, she settled one leg on each side from the top. “Get to work.”
“How are you feeling?” I asked as we lingered in the hall waiting for her name to be announced and the grand march into the gym to begin. Her mother and father were in the stands, and for that I was grateful.
I didn’t plan to have any inappropriate conversations or picture the things we’d done the night before, but we had a routine.
Day in and day out we worked together alone, and that was what we’d become accustomed to. I needed her to feel free to tell me anything she needed to, and I needed to be able to do the same.