Breaking South (Turner Artist Rocker #3) - Alyson Santos Page 0,17
but I can’t exactly blame her for blowing off my concerns. We barely know each other, and how deep can we go in a quick text exchange anyway? I need her in my arms, to be cemented in her awareness.
Carlos couldn’t meet me until nine this morning, so I start warmups on my own at eight. I promise him I won’t do anything crazy until he arrives, and after some Carlos-approved isometric warmups, I pound the elliptical at only mildly dangerous levels. Of course, as my mind takes off, so does my pace when I lose track of the numbers. Maybe I end up pushing harder than he’d like, and by the time he arrives, I’m drenched in sweat and breathing hard.
“What happened to a mild warmup?” he mutters as I wind down and wipe my face with my shirt.
“It’s nothing. In fact, I’m feeling great. I think we should try some plyometrics. Box jumps or maybe even—”
“Not a chance.”
“But—”
“Ollie, I love you, dude, but no.”
I glare at him. “I’m ready, Carlos. Enough with the elliptical and balancing shit.”
He crosses his arms, brows furrowing. “Oh? You’re ready? Really? Is that what you call what happened on the ice at that meet-and-greet the other day?”
I clench my jaw and avert my gaze. “That was…”
“Don’t lie to me, kid. You were hurting. You needed some tiny pop-tart to help you up. You’re lucky the guys didn’t see that.”
Believe me, I had no such luck. A road-trip and slight time change didn’t stop the barrage of messages from my teammates when the footage aired. Most along the lines of: Dude, I would’ve jacked up my knee too for a piece of Genevieve Fox.
“I didn’t need her,” I lie. “And don’t call her that. Her name is Genevieve.”
His stance relaxes into surprised humor. “Is it now?”
I roll my eyes and step down from the elliptical. “Are we doing therapy or what?”
“You in a hurry or something?”
“Maybe. I have to cut out around noon.”
He studies me again, and I shrug through a few gulps of water.
“Is that so?”
“Quit asking questions. I don’t grill you about your off-ice activities.”
“I don’t have off-ice activities,” he says with a smirk. “You’re my world right now, mon amour.”
I roll my eyes and drop to the leg press. “Your accent sucks, you know.”
“And yours is adorable.”
“Don’t you dare hug me,” I warn, pointing at him.
He laughs and adjusts the weight for me. “Seriously, Ollie. I saw your face just now. I don’t know what you’ve got going on with that girl, but be careful. You’re a good kid and I’ve been in this business a long time. Girls like that will eat nice kids like you for breakfast.”
“She’s not like that,” I grunt through a leg extension.
“No? You think we didn’t notice how she pounced on you after the meet-and-greet? Like moths to a flame. They love athletes, kid. The rush and excitement. You satisfy some caveman craving in them.”
I let the machine slam down in a loud crash. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
He lifts his hands, unaffected by my venom. “Look, I get it. I’ve seen it a thousand times. Mostly it’s harmless since you guys are just looking for a good time too, but you’re different, Ollie. Saw it the first day you walked into that locker room. Hey, it’s a compliment. You’ve got substance. You also have an incredibly bright future and enough of a setback with your knee right now. I don’t want to see anything else drag you down. Those Hollywood flakes bring drama at a nuclear level, and I know how much you hate drama. I also know how badly you want this.” He waves his hand around the weight room. “You really want to allow a distraction like Genevieve Fox into your life with everything you’re already dealing with?”
I glare straight ahead as I push through another set of reps, and Carlos makes a wise choice to stay quiet this time. I do hate drama. I also hate nosy, know-it-all physical therapists trying to decide what’s best for me. My knee, maybe. My heart—he can’t begin to sort out. He knows nothing about me other than my stats and physiology, same as everyone else in my world. Besides, he didn’t see the pain in her eyes that day in the pool. That wasn’t a girl intent on using me for a good time. That was a woman who was deeply hurting and desperate for a lifeline.