Page 16 of Beach B!tch
"Shortening my name already, huh? Does that mean I can reciprocate and call you D?" She turned into me and flashed her own brilliant smile.
Whoa, what was going on here? She was smiling at me, and dare I say, flirting with me? I paused for a moment, too stunned to think of an answer soon enough. Her smile stayed as we looked at each other. In such close proximity I could see a few freckles on her nose, which just ramped up her cute quotient by a thousand.
"Uh, sweetheart, you can call me anything you want." I know it sounded like a pick up line, but seriously, she could call me anything and I'd drop everything to answer her.
She laughed and said, "I'll just call you Dean. It's short enough to work just fine. So what are we doing today?"
Beyond hoping and praying her good mood lasted the whole session, I had quite a few more exercises planned for her. I walked her through them, impressed with her coordination and effort. She was an exceptional athlete and valued hard work. She didn't even count a repetition unless it was perfect. I'd seen her type before, and along with the doctor's assessment of inflammation in her other ankle too, I could see what the problem was. Question is, would she listen to me?
While she was stretching out toward the end of the session, I decided to throw it out there and see how she responded.
"So, Brin. I'll be honest with you because that's how I operate." I gave her a second to prepare. "You're pushing too hard."
She tried to jump in and cut me off, but I put my hands on hers, stopping her. "Now, listen for a second before you shake your head at me. The doctor said you have inflammation in your other ankle, which is a concern. You're not giving yourself sufficient recovery to keep up with your grueling schedule. How many rest days do you take per week?"
"Well that depends what you mean by rest day. Like just a quick run? Then, once a week," she answered me. I noticed she didn't move her hands out from under mine, so I went with it and kept them there.
"No, I mean like a day of total and complete rest. No exercise, no running, no lifting weights. Just sitting and walking around and enjoying your day."
"Umm...let me think about that for a second," she said while wrinkling her forehead in concentration.
"Let me guess, it's been months. Am I right?" I flipped my hands over and intertwined our fingers so we were palm to palm, legit holding hands.
She glanced down at our hands like she was just noticing we were touching. She still didn't retrieve her hands, which I counted as a personal victory. She wouldn't make eye contact, choosing to continue to stare at our hands. She shrugged her shoulder and muttered, "Yeah, probably something like that."
I squeezed her hands. "Look at me, Brinley." She lifted her head and met my gaze. I continued speaking with emphasis on every word. "You can't put in that kind of work and expect your body to keep up. You're on a path to self-destruction. This ankle injury is your warning that something has to change."
She withdrew her hands and crossed her arms over her chest. Her green eyes turned icy as she nailed me with her intense stare. "I can't back off now. I'm one game away from earning a spot on the pro tour. That's everything I've ever wanted. I promise I'll back off later, once I achieve that. But right now? There's no way in hell that's happening. End of discussion."
I nodded my head, already knowing this was the reaction I would get. I reached over, grabbed her foot, placed it in my lap, and dug my thumb into her arch. The icy quality to her eyes simmered down to a normal green stare with each stroke of my thumb, but the set of her jaw told me she wouldn't back down, not for all the foot massages in the world.
"I hear you. But I know an overuse injury when I see one, so we'll have to agree to disagree on this." I smiled at her, hoping to put her at ease and get the easy-going Brinley back from earlier. "When did you get into volleyball?"
She took a deep breath, and it took everything in my power to keep my eyes from traveling south and taking in the sight of her tight tank top. My innocent question didn't seem to relax her, if anything, she seemed even more tense.
"I got into volleyball in middle school, but I didn't get serious with it until high school. I had some great coaches that took me under their wing and gave me their one-on-one time. Then I got a scholarship to play at USC. Volleyball has been my focus for most of my life." She finishes with a small shrug, like getting into USC on a scholarship isn't a big, freakin' deal.
"Jeez, Brinley, that's awesome. I bet your parents were crazy proud of you," I responded, wanting her to see how incredible she was.
Her face turned almost white, and she looked away from me in a hurry. I grabbed onto her foot to keep her in place. She looked ready to dart away, and I didn't want that happening just when I was getting to know her.
"Did I say something wrong?" I asked quietly as I ducked my head to get her eye contact again. Her eyes were darting around before she squeezed them shut for a moment. Then she opened them and looked up at me. I could have sworn I saw tears in her eyes and I wanted to shoot myself for making her upset.
"No, you didn't say anything wrong. My mom died when I was young and I don't have a relationship with my dad, so no, I can't say they're proud of me," she said in that high pitched, sweet voice of hers.
Her words hit me in the chest as I realized she was alone in the world. I let go of her foot and wrapped her in a hug instead, my hands grabbing fistfuls of soft hair at her back, like I'd been wanting to do since the first day I saw her.
"I'm sorry, Brinley. I didn't know. For what it's worth, I'm proud of you," I whispered in her ear. I could smell flowers as I squeezed her tighter and buried my nose in her hair. Knowing she'd accomplished so much without parental support made me want to protect her. This beautiful girl was even stronger than I ever could have imagined, yet I still felt overwhelmed in my need to shelter her and make everything better. In fact, knowing she'd endured so much on her own made me want to spoil her. If anyone deserved it, she did.
I finally pulled back, leaving one hand on her waist, my other hand reaching up to cup her face. I stroked my thumb along her cheekbone, memorizing the way her freckles melted into her soft, tan skin.
We sat there and stared at each other before she broke the silence. "Why did you punch that guy?"
"What?" I was caught up in her face and the feel of her skin and wasn't following her train of thought. What guy?
"At Esa and Ivan's party. You punched that guy. What was that all about?" Her green eyes hadn't left mine, and she leaned into my hand.
Ah, that guy. I knew we'd have to talk about that night. "Well, first of all, I regret punching him. Not because he didn't deserve it. He did. But because it made you upset."
