Page 10 of Racing Heat
“Yoga isn’t for me. I would much rather run.”
“I thought you said something about enjoying rage yoga?” I tease her.
“Yoga is too slow. I need something faster, something more hardcore. Like running.”
We run in silence for a while and then she speaks.
“How long were you married?”
My head snaps in her direction. “How did you know I was married? Did you Google me?”
She shakes her head as we round a small corner and continue along the wooden walk. “No, I didn’t. Andie mentioned it to me when I was at the trainer’s office getting my regular checkup.”
The trainer has the girls come down so that he can evaluate them for aches and pains they may or may not be telling the coaches or trainers about. Another thing that the Cromwell’s do that isn’t standard. When I was a player, we only went to the trainer if we were injured or not feeling well. But the Cromwell’swant to make sure each athlete is in tip-top shape, so off to the trainers they go.
“She mentioned something about it coming up in conversation with Coach Watts when he was talking about his twin’s birthday,” she rambles on. “I was just curious. I hadn’t realized that you had been married before. You don’t strike me as the type.”
I slow my run and stop. Cassie doesn’t realize it at first and has to walk back to me once she discovers I’m no longer running beside her.
“What? Should I not have asked the question?”
I sigh. “No, it’s not that. I’m just trying to understand why you think I’m not the type who would be married. What about me says I’m anti-marriage?”
“I don’t know. I just figured if you were ever married, you still would be,” she says with a shrug.
“Uh-huh,” I say. “And what made Andie tell you about that?”
Cassie winces. “I’m sorry she violated your trust.” She starts walking our route and I follow along with her.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind so much that she told you, just that you didn’t think I was marriage material.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend.” She bumps my shoulder.
I’m not sure why this bothers me so much, but it does. Most of the women I’ve met here in Tampa are excited by me. My light brown hair, brown eyes, and tall muscular form have always bided well for me when it comes to the ladies. Especially with my accent. I once had a woman here in the US ask me if I could record myself reading her favorite romance book. She told me she would do anything to hear the sound of my voice while I read an over three-hundred-page book. I knew my accent would be a favorite in the US based on stereotypes alone, but I never thought I gave off the vibe of not being marriage material.
We walk in silence for a while. The only sounds are the seagulls above, the waves crashing, and the occasional runner coming up and saying, “On your left.”
“Okay, what’s going through your head over there?” Cassie finally asks me. “You’re stewing and I can practically hear it.”
“I’m not stewing. I’m just thinking.”
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
I sigh. “Just remembering everything.”
“The marriage or the divorce?”
“I guess both,” I tell her.
“Can I ask you what happened? What caused you to get a divorce?”
“It’s not really as dramatic as you would think,” I tell her. “No one cheated. There was no secret lover affair or hidden babies. Just two people who realized we shouldn’t be together.”
“Were you young when you got married?”
“We were.”
“Before or after the injury?”
