Page 25 of Racing Hearts

I cursed under my breath before glowering at him. He scowled right back with equal obstinance—all the gentleness that he’d just been administering to his young athletes evaporated. Still, I didn’t let go. I’ve researched this. I’ve done the repetition maximum tests and calculated the right load coefficients factors. I do six sets because of science and evidence, not winging it.

“I always do six,” I bit back.

“Today you’re doing five.”

I tensed my shoulders and lifted the bar off its hooks. Adrian flew across the room, landing in front of me. Eyes burning, he pressed his hands on either side of my barbell, hemming me between his arms. Then he pushed backward until I heard a click of metal on metal.

I stared up at him defiantly, neck still pressed to the cool bar. The proximity of him, the way his body seemed to engulf mine…With him this close, I could even smell him—all sandalwood, and citrus, and opinions. On either side of my shoulders, Adrian rolled his hands against the grips, as though fixing the bar—and me—in place.

“Enough,” he growled. “That’s enough.”

My heart thudded, low in my chest, and heat spread up my neck.

Around us, the clangs and thuds of an active weight room quieted. Dozens of pairs of eyes descended on my squat rack. With another frown, I released the bar and stepped back, extricating myself from Adrian’s overwhelming nearness.

He exhaled, and it sounded almost like relief, then spun around. “Back to work, boys!”

“You sure this is about the squats?” Sofi asks from her perch at the edge of the tub.

“What’s that mean?” My teeth involuntarily chatter again. I glance at my timer. Still nine minutes to go, which sounds shorter than it’ll feel.

Sofi’s eyes get closer to the screen, like she’s trying to inspect me through the tiny window. “You’re more agitated than usual. And that’s saying something.”

“I’m agitated,” I say, pivoting to avoid her scrutinizing gaze and so I can scoop up one of my hard-boiled eggs from the Tupperware on the bathroom tiles, “because I have to beat the Canadian to get my life back and the person who is supposed to be helping me do that is holding me back instead.”

“Hmm,” she says, leaning yet closer. I can barely see anything but one of her brown eyes. “Or you’re feeling embarrassed about the dance floor incident, but that emotion makes you uncomfortable so you’re channeling it into rage instead.”

I narrow my eyes. Sofi might be my best friend, but I still hate that she witnessed that moment. No one should have seen that because it never should have happened in the first place. “I’m not.”

She nods like I just agreed with her. “Right, so it’s both, then. And maybe some repressed attraction?”

I fight a sigh, which quickly turns into a shudder. “I am not repressing attraction. Adrian is my coach. Besides, I don’t have any attraction to repress.”

“Yeah. Right, totally,” Sofi says. “It’s probably also why you kept yourself a respectful distance away from Citrus Adonis on the dance floor.”

“Citrus Adonis?”

She fights a grin. “You don’t like that? I’ve got more. Hunk o’ Lemon? Tarty Squeeze?”

I bite off half an egg and roll my eyes aggressively enough that she can see me do it. “Can we talk about you now? Surely you have some emotional wounds we can pick at instead.”

Her gaze pings around her med center room before she pinches the bridge of her nose.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, realizing I’ve elicited more consternation than expected.

“It’s just…Missy melted down after practice this morning because she feels like the boat isn’t ‘respecting her calls,’ but that led to a huge fight with everyone about how emotionally she responds when things aren’t going her way and I, of course, ended up in the middle when I tried to talk everyone down. Now I’m lightheaded and fed up.”

“That’s frustrating,” I say, genuinely sympathetic. Every time something like this happens with Sofi’s team, I feel grateful I have only my own drama to deal with. “How are things now?”

She puffs her cheeks as she resettles into her seat. “Fine, I guess. Missy apologized for her outburst, but it’s been an hour since I left her room and I’m still dizzy.”

“Yeah? When’s the last time you ate?”

She regards me skeptically. “You’ve only been home for a few days. How have you already turned into your mom?”

I laugh darkly. “Well, first off, you’re thinking of anyone else’s mom, not mine. But second off, I always bring eggs and bananas to our afternoon cold plunges”—I lift the banana peel that I dropped on the floor earlier—“and you’re both lightheaded and empty-handed.”

She balks. “Will you be mad if I admit that I haven’t eaten since second breakfast?”