Page 103 of Citius

Even though it nearly killed me.

Fuck, I thought as my stomach roiled, rejecting the string cheese I’d forced down earlier. Maybe she reallywaskilling me.

I hadn’t slept right since that plane ride. Riddled with constant nausea. My shorts hung low and loose on my hips. And my pheromones…

Pulling my head from under the faucet, I stripped and cleaned my body with scent-canceling wipes. Then, a liberal dose of neutralizing spray, followed by fresh clothes. I’d change again after lunch.

Finally, I swallowed a double dose of the prescription Cal had given me Saturday night—after he finished peppering me with questions and drawing three vials of blood.

I wanted to hate the guy. We had nothing in common. I didn’t have his smarts, height, wealth, or confidence—everything she deserved from a partner.

Nor could I offer her Alijah’s sweet devotion, Joaquin’s playful devilry, or even Owen’s intellectual stimulation.

I was just a man falling to pieces on her doorstep.

And they thought I’d dumped her.

What a goddamn joke.

***

By the time afternoon practice rolled around, I’d checked off every recruiting call on my list. Even managed to type up all my notes—badly,but at least they were more readable than my chicken scratch.

After two more rounds of scent-canceling spray and another dose of blockers, I could finally focus on being the coach my squad deserved. Who cared that I was running on half a protein bar and two liters of water?

“All right,” I said to a handful of girls gathered near the vault runway, several of whom were taller than me, their practice gear complemented by ankle and wrist braces. “Let’s focus on your landings today. Most of you are over-rotating, so keep that in mind. Got it?” Clapping my hands together, I coaxed some enthusiasm from them. “Let’s go.”

Their vaults were good, some even great, but there was always room for improvement.

“That looked cramped. Did it feel that way?” I asked one of the girls. “Hurdle sooner. Really stretch out that back handspring. Try it again.”

Body after body flipped into the foam pit.

“That’s it—punch it, punch it!”

The simultaneous gasps behind me alerted me to Morgan’s arrival. I knew it was her from the subtle vibration of confidence stroking the back of my neck. Even now, after ten years, the vault was her domain.

She stopped beside me in her work uniform—a Narwhals sweatshirt, fleece vest, and scrub pants. Seeing her on the foam mats in street clothes and tennis shoes felt surreal. She should have been barefoot, ankles taped, covered in chalk dust, jogging toward the end of the runway to take her turn on the vault.

Her amused amber eyes slid up to meet mine. “For someone who specializes in bars and rings, you’re better at this than I expected.”

“Learned from the best,” I murmured, redirecting my attention to the next girl in line, who was staring slack-jawed at the two of us. “Come on, Nika. Don’t step to the side when you lunge this time. Go!”

Morgan crossed her arms and watched the vaults silently, shifting her weight to one side. The curve of her hip hovered close enough to graze my leg. Yet not close enough.

“You weren’t kidding about how much air they’re getting. I’m impressed,” she said with an approving nod.

“Our recruiting game is strong,” I replied, keeping an eye on the girls. The next vaulter landed too far to the left in the pit. “Watch your elbows, Danni.”

“What do you mean?” Danni asked, wading through the foam blocks.

“You can’t bend your elbows like that and you know it.”

“But I don’t remember,” she said with an exaggerated pout, resting her arms on the edge of the pit. “Can’t you show us?”

She batted her eyelashes—at Morgan. A dozen other gazes piled on with unchecked interest.

Biting back a smile, the object of their admiration turned away and asked under her breath, “Walk me out?”

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