Page 24 of More To Us

"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.

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