More to Us Page 6

  "I have other friends, just not here in Chicago." I bring the weights down and relax my arms by my sides.

  "Well, now you do." He's still smiling. "I'll be your second friend in Chicago."

  "That's okay. I'm sure I'll make plenty of friends when I start college next week."

  He rests his forearms on the machine and leans toward me. He's sweaty and yet he doesn't even smell bad. It's more of a musky, manly scent that I find oddly appealing.

  "Am I that bad?" he asks. "You won't even be friends with me?"

  "It's just that I really don't—"

  "Let's start over." He holds his hand out to me. "Hi. I'm Austin Wheeler. I'm 21. I work for Wheeler Construction and Renovations, my dad's company. And when I'm not working, I play guitar in a band called Vandyl. I have three older brothers and I like working out."

  "Nice to meet you, Austin." I shake his hand just so he'll put it down and back away. He's too close to me, and if I remain this close to him for much longer, I'll find myself agreeing to go out with him. It's not like that would be the worst thing in the world. In fact, I'd probably like going on a date with him. He's super hot and we both like working out, but I don't want to date a guy in a band. As I witnessed last night, he has girls all over him all the time and I don't want to compete with that. He can have any girl he wants. He'd go out with me a couple times, get bored, and move on with someone else. He's not boyfriend material, not that I want a boyfriend, but if I did, it wouldn't be some muscular hottie who has girls begging to go out with him.

  "Your turn," he says, still hovering over my machine.

  "Could you please move back? You're kind of sweaty."

  He immediately steps back. "Sorry. I wasn't even thinking about that. Shit, that's embarrassing." A hint of pink comes over his cheeks which I find kind of sweet. He's Mr. Confident, almost cocky, one minute, then is suddenly self-conscious, concerned that I really am turned off by his sweat.

  "Don't worry about it," I tell him. "It's a gym. It's normal. I'm sweaty too." I'm really not, but I say it so he doesn't feel so self-conscious.

  "Yeah, but you don't stink. I do." He takes another step back. "I should go shower."

  It's the strangest thing, but now, for some reason, I don't want him to leave. As soon as he said he was leaving, I got this urge to make him stay. Is it just because I like looking at him? Or is it something else?

  "If you change your mind about dinner, just let me know. I'm here almost every day, but if you don't see me, just ask one of the guys at the front desk for my number. Everyone here knows me." He's talking fast, almost like he's nervous, which I also find to be sweet. He's got this whole other vulnerable side I didn't know about until just now. "Or I could just give you my number." When I don't answer, he nods and says, "Okay, well, it was nice seeing you again. I'll let you get back to your workout." He turns and walks off.

  "Austin?" I call after him.

  He turns back. "Yeah?"

  I get off the machine and walk over to him, extending my hand. "Hi. I'm Kira. I'm 21 and starting college next week, probably making me the oldest freshman the school has ever had." I laugh a little, then keep going. "I'm from Michigan and have three younger brothers. And I like working out."

  He smiles and shakes my hand. "Well, we have that in common at least."

  "Yeah." I let go of his hand, my eyes getting stuck on his face again. Those blue eyes, and that smile. I really like his smile and the fact that he smiles a lot. He seems like a really positive person and I could use more people like that in my life. This past year, I've been surrounded by people who are constantly negative. It's nice to be around someone who isn't.

  "Any reason why?" he asks.

  "Why what?"

  "Why you like working out? I only ask because you're in really good shape and I was thinking maybe you're an athlete. I played football and baseball in high school. That's what got me lifting weights. Now I just do it because I like how it makes me feel."

  "That's one reason I like it too but also because..." I pause, not sure I should say this because it's not really true anymore. But in my mind it is, and someday soon, I'll compete again. I know I will. "I'm a gymnast."

  "A gymnast." He repeats it, his mind probably imagining how I'd be in bed. Guys are obsessed with gymnasts, thinking we do all these crazy things during sex just because our bodies are flexible. It's annoying and disrespectful to female gymnasts, and yet I admit, for a moment, I was imagining what Austin could do in bed with that body of his.

  "For how long?" he asks, bringing me back to the conversation.

  "Pretty much my whole life. A couple years ago, I competed at nationals."

  "No shit?" I see the shock on his face. He's truly impressed, and for the first time in over a year, I feel like my old self again, the gymnast everyone was impressed with and rooting for, instead of the girl with the busted up leg that people just feel sorry for.

  "Yeah, it was pretty awesome just to be there," I say.

  "Isn't that where they pick who goes to the Olympics?"

  "The selection process involves more than that, but yeah, some of the girls who were there ended up on the Olympic team."

  His brows rise. "Shit, I'm honored."

  "By what?"

  "I didn't know I was in the presence of a professional athlete. That's freaking awesome. Congratulations."

  "Thanks." I can't stop smiling. It feels great to be treated like a gymnast again. Just saying the word makes me happy.

  "So what are you doing in college?" he asks. "Don't you need to spend all your time training? Or are you on the college team?"

  "Um, no. I'm not competing anymore." And there goes my happy mood. Now I have to explain what happened.

  I'm suddenly realizing why Austin didn't tell me he was in the band. Sometimes you just want to be someone else. Last night, he just wanted to be a regular guy, and right now, I just want to be a gymnast. Not a former gymnast, but a gymnast who's training for her next event.

  "Did you get hurt?" he asks cautiously, almost like he already knows. Maybe he could tell. Sometimes I limp when I walk and don't even realize it.

  "Yeah. I broke my leg. It wasn't anything major, just a small fracture, but even the smallest injury can take you out of competition." I'm not telling him how bad my injury was. He doesn't need to know. And besides, my leg is healed.

  He points to my leg. "Is that how you got the scars?"

  There's a scar on my right leg along my shin and another one on my thigh. When I fell off the balance beam, I broke my femur, the thigh bone, and tibia, the shin bone. Both required surgery but the surgeon did such a good job that the scars really aren't that noticeable unless you're looking directly at my leg, like Austin did just now.

  "The scars are from hiking," I say. "I slipped and fell on some sharp rocks and needed stitches." The lie rolled off my tongue before I could stop it. Why did I do that? Why did I lie? I just yelled at Austin for lying and now I'm doing it myself. But I didn't want to say what really happened. One, because I don't like talking about it, and two, because I don't want yet another person telling me my gymnastics career is over.

  "So how'd you break your leg?"

  "I fell during a gymnastics meet." At least I told the truth that time. I just didn't provide details, but he doesn't need details. I've already told him enough.

  "When did it happen?" he asks.

  "A little over a year ago. Now I'm training to get back into shape."

  "So you'll be competing again?" His voice is full of hope, like he really believes I can do it. Like he believes in me. Finally, I found someone who isn't looking at me with pity or using a tone that implies I'm delusional to think I could ever compete again.

  "I'd like to, but right now I'm not ready. I have a lot of work to do."

  "No wonder you won't go out with me." He laughs a little. "You probably only date other professional athletes, not guys like me, who just like working out."

  "No, that's not it at all," I say,
then notice I'm touching his arm. I reached for him without even thinking. I drop my hand back by my side. "It's just that I don't really have time to date right now. I have to spend all my time getting back in shape."

  "So where's your trainer?"

  "Oh, um, I don't have one." I realize that doesn't make sense as soon as I say it. If I'm a top gymnast, I'd have a trainer and a coach and be working out at some elite gym, not this small, bare-bones gym located in an old warehouse building. I only joined this place because it was cheap and I wouldn't run into Amber here. If she saw me training like this, she'd coddle me, telling me to take it easy so I don't hurt myself. Here, I can train like I want to train. Hard, with heavy weights, pushing myself to the limit.

  "You don't have a trainer?" He cocks his head, confused.

  I need to explain this. Otherwise he'll ask me more questions I don't want to answer.

  "I'm not in official training mode anymore. It's a long shot I'll even compete again. That's why I'm going to college. It's my back-up plan. My parents think it's time for me to move on from gymnastics but I'm not quite ready to. I want to at least try to compete again."

  "I could recommend some trainers here in Chicago, although the good ones are really expensive and I don't know if they have any experience working with gymnasts."

  "That's okay. I don't really need one. I've done this long enough to know what I'm doing."

  "I could train you," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "You're a trainer?"

  "No, but one of the guys who works here asked if I'd consider it. I turned him down because I'm too busy working my construction job, but I've trained my older brother and now he's almost as ripped as I am."

  I smile. "You think you're ripped?"

  "Hell yeah." He lifts up his t-shirt, showing off an eight-pack. "You disagree?"

  "No. I'd say you're ripped." I keep my eyes on his abs until he lowers his shirt. But then my eyes wander to his forearms, then his biceps. He's ripped everywhere I look. Tall and lean and pure muscle. Did I mention I have a thing for guys with muscles? Add in those blue eyes and that smile and it's no wonder I'm burning up inside.

  "So what do you think?" he asks. "You want a trainer? I don't know anything about gymnastics, but I can set you up with a plan that will improve your strength or whatever other fitness goals you have. I can even give you a meal plan to follow."

  "You know about nutrition?"

  He nods. "What you put in your body is just as important as your workouts. You can't eat like shit and expect results." He looks down, then back up. "But you already know that. Sorry. I have to get used to the fact that I'm talking to an elite athlete. I'm sure you know a lot more than me."

  "I know some stuff, but not everything." I hold my hand out. "Okay, it's a deal. You can be my trainer."

  He shakes on it. "Then we'll start today. Give me twelve reps on the leg press." He points to it. I can only do really light weights on that machine, which will clue Austin in to the fact that I'm more injured than I admitted to.

  "I'm doing upper body today," I tell him.

  "Then head to the lat pull. We'll start with that."

  "Don't you have to go to work?"

  He checks the clock on the wall and sighs. "Shit. You're right. Sorry, I didn't realize it was so late. How about this? During my break today, I'll write out a preliminary plan, then we'll meet up for dinner to go over it."

  "Okay, I could do that." I told Amber I'd eat with her tonight, but she's going to Matt's apartment for dinner so I would've just been a third wheel again. I'd rather go out with Austin.

  "How about we meet at Nem's Wok? It's just a few miles from here. I go there a lot because you can pick your ingredients. We can load up on protein and vegetables." He grins. "It all starts with good nutrition."

  "Sounds good. What time do you want to meet?"

  "Does seven work?"

  "Sure. I'll see you then." But then I remember I have no way to get there. "Wait. I don't have a car. Is this place on the bus line?"

  "I don't think so. I'll just pick you up. Text me your address."

  "I need your number."

  "That's right." He chuckles. "I've tried to give it to you so many times I thought you already had it."

  "Sorry about that." I hand him my phone to put the number in. "I just don't like collecting phone numbers from strange guys. Not that you're strange. It's just—"

  "Don't worry about it." He hands me my phone. "I'll see you tonight."

  For the next hour I make my way to each machine, using light weights because I'm still sore from the other day. I have a workout plan I always follow so I really don't need a trainer, but I figured I'd see what Austin comes up with. I'm willing to try something new, and given how good his body looks, he must know what he's doing.

  "Where have you been?" Amber asks when I get back to the apartment. She's sitting at the kitchen table organizing all her stuff for class next week.

  "I went to campus and walked around." I lied because if I told her I was working out, she'd lecture me and then probably call my mom and tell on me. The doctor says I'm not supposed to be working out this much, especially if my leg is bothering me, but how else am I going to get in good enough shape to compete again?

  "You went to campus?" She sets her stapler down. "Why didn't you tell me? I told you I'd show you around."

  "I know, but I remember things better when I do them myself."

  "So you want to have lunch?"

  "Sure. I'm just gonna put my stuff away." I hurry into my bedroom and close my door and yank my sweaty gym clothes from my backpack.

  "Do you want Chinese?" Amber asks from outside my door. "I'm craving stir-fry."

  "Um, no, let's have something else." I stuff my dirty clothes in my laundry bag.

  She opens my door. "What are you in the mood for?"

  "I don't know. Maybe a salad?" I toss my laundry bag in the closet.

  "What are you doing?" she asks, eyeing the laundry bag.

  "Nothing. Why?"

  "Is something in the bag?"

  "Just dirty clothes." I meet her at the door. "So what do you think? Want to just go to that place on the corner? It's close and I like their salads."

  "Yeah, that works." She goes across the hall to her own room. "I just need to grab my purse."

  I close the door to my room and wait for her in the hall. Hiding my workouts from Amber is going to be difficult, but I'm hoping she'll be so busy once school starts that she won't notice what I'm up to.

  She shouldn't be keeping tabs on me this way, but I know that she is, and that if I confronted her about it, she'd either deny it or say it's only because she cares about me. But taking away my dream isn't caring about me. Nobody seems to understand that, which is why I'm stuck hiding my workouts and gym membership.

  "Okay, I'm ready." She slings her purse over her shoulder and goes past me in the hall.

  When we get to the restaurant, we find a booth to sit at and she orders a burger and I get a salad. As we're waiting for our food, she swipes through her phone, then hands it to me.

  "What's this?"

  "Articles about the band. I looked them up but I couldn't bring myself to read them."

  "Why not?" I ask, enlarging the type so I can read it.

  "Because I'm not supposed to be thinking about him."

  "About Dylan?"

  "Yes," she whispers.

  "Why are you whispering?"

  "Because I don't want anyone I know to hear me." She glances outside the booth.

  "Who would hear you? Is Matt meeting us here?"

  "No, but one of his friends could be here."

  "Amber, you didn't do anything wrong. You were with Dylan before you even knew Matt."

  "I know, but still, I shouldn't be looking up stuff about him." She points to her phone. "Which is why I'm having you do it."

  "Isn't that almost the same as you doing it?"

  She snatches her phone back. "You're right. It
's wrong either way. Just forget it."

  "Wait." I take her phone back. "I want to see what you found."

  "It's just some articles about how the band started and a little about each guy. There's stuff about Austin in there."

  I scan the article until I see his name. It says he works construction for his dad, just like he told me, and that he organized a benefit concert last spring to raise money for some guy's medical bills.

  "What does it say?" Amber asks.

  "I'm reading about Austin, not Dylan."

  "So you're not mad at him anymore?"

  I glance up and see her smiling at me.

  "I wasn't mad at him. I was annoyed with him."

  "Are you going to call him up and agree to go out with him?"

  I shrug. "Maybe as a friend."

  She sets her elbows on the table and leans toward me. "So what changed your mind?"

  "I just think it'd be good to try to make some more friends."

  "You mean hot guy friends you might want to date."

  "I'm not going to date him. Maybe I'll be friends with him, but that's it."

  "Did he call you?"

  "I didn't give him my number."

  "Then how are you going to be friends with him? You'll never see him again, unless you go hear him play somewhere. And if you do that, you'll have to get through about twenty girls just to say hi to him."

  "I have his number. I can call him."

  "He gave you his number?" She grins. "When? Last night?"

  "Yeah," I say, since I can't tell her the truth. She can't know I was at the gym and she can't know Austin is going to be my trainer.

  "So when are you going to call him?"

  "I already did." Another lie, but I can't tell her I saw him today.

  She slams her palm on the table. "Are you serious? You called up Austin Wheeler?"

  "Yeah. Why?"

  "First of all, just last night you said you never wanted to see him again. And second, Austin is like a local celebrity. Girls all over the city are dying to get his phone number, and he just gives it to you? Some girl he just met?"