Page 6 of Salto

And no matter how many times I repeated it and tried to dampen the feeling, some small part of me still stubbornly burned for more.

It was, of course, at that very moment that I felt a small ache in my back. The one that never truly went away. I’d worked myself extra hard during the meet, and I was feeling the repercussions more than usual.

I looked away and asked my dad another question about work.

And for the rest of dinner, I simply let myself burn.

It had become a ritual to spend my only day off at the beach. Every Sunday, I drove to Muscle Beach in Santa Monica and spent hours swinging on the bars. They had outdoor workout equipment right on the sand, and it was my favorite place to relax.

I parked about a block away in the free parking and made the short, five-minute walk to the beach. It was barely nine o’clock, and it was pretty dead when I arrived, except for a few people who were up early to run.

I kicked off my shoes and walked across the sand, letting my feet disappear beneath the thousands of sparkling grains. The salty breeze filled my lungs, and for the first time all day, my mind stopped replaying routines and scores. Out here, there were no judges, no coaches. No expectations. Just the ocean.

I headed for the waves first, running up to the edge and letting the foam roll over my toes. It was so cold it caused me to shiver, but I welcomed the chill. I held my arms out, letting my feet sink deeper and deeper with every pass of the waves.

With every retreat of the tide, it felt like it carried away a little of the pressure weighing on my shoulders.

After about twenty minutes of just enjoying the water, I got up, wiped my wet, sandy hands on my cover-up, and headed toward the metal bars a little farther up the shore. The moment my hands clasped the metal bar, muscle memory instantly took over. Here I could just swing. No intense flips or anything. Just the feeling of floating.

I found myself grinning from ear to ear. I went down the entire set, doing a flyaway off the last one, and landed in the sand.

The sudden impulse to salute came over me.

And because I thought I was pretty much alone on the beach, I lifted my arms and turned to face the imaginary judges I’d conjured in my head.

What I wasn’t expecting was to find someone standing there.

Especially not a man with bright green eyes.

CHAPTER 3

“Oh,” I said, dropping my salute and awkwardly tugging my cover-up back over my shoulder.

It wasn’t like I was wearing a string bikini or anything. I had on an all-black one-piece I'd bought in high school and a cover-up I'd probably picked up during a Forever 21 sale that same year.

Still, I felt strangely disoriented.

“I didn’t see you there.”

He wore a pair of tan shorts and a white T-shirt that left the entire sleeve of tattoos on his right arm exposed. The black ink continued up toward the base of his neck, tapering off beneath the stark blond strands that fell across his forehead and around his ears.

I immediately flushed. It only took my brain about three seconds to register just how attractive he was.

He smiled, not at all appearing fazed by my flustered reaction.

“I think I’d give that a ten. Maybe a small deduction for the wobble on the landing.”

I laughed, not expecting those words to leave his mouth.

He was maybe five-foot-seven, and clearly worked out. His toned biceps and solid calves were proof of his physical discipline.

“Oh, really? I don’t think I wobbled. I think you’re imagining things,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest as my eyes narrowed.

His lips pulled up in a lopsided smile, making his green eyes sparkle with amusement. They were such an impossible shade of green they reminded me of moss, which was ridiculous because I spent ninety percent of my life inside a gym, not wandering through forests.

“I might be, actually. I wasn't expecting to come to the beach and find a girl doing flips in the sand.”

“Oh, I'm very real,” I assured him, a thrill shooting through my blood.