She laughed. “All right, we’ll let you get away with the jet-lag excuse today. But not tomorrow.”
After my session, I shoved my feet into my sneakers and followed an arrow into the basement, untied laces flapping. I wandered through the bowels of the Ice Chalet until I reached the gym.
It was a rectangular cinder-brick room painted purple with harsh overhead lighting. At least the equipment looked newish, including two Pilates Reformer machines.
Henry was in the stretching area of thick mats in the corner working on his left quad. I kicked off my shoes and plopped down, spreading my legs into a wide side split. Leaning forward on my elbows, I scrolled Instagram.
I swear I could feel the weight of Henry’s disapproval, and sure enough, when I glanced up, he was staring at me. His brown eyes were intense. His lashes were really thick, and he had this way of glaring while otherwise seeming impassive, his face like a mask of placid tension.
I gave him a cheery smile because it would probably annoy him. Which I admit was immature, but if I was going to be stuck with him all season, I was compelled to push Henry’s buttons. It would be boring as hell otherwise.
Ignoring me, he shifted into a single-leg hamstring stretch, leaning low over his knee. Grimacing, he grunted, his hair flopping over, his hands gripping his flexed foot.
“Don’t pull so hard. Just let the stretch happen.”
“We’re not all naturally flexible.” His tone was stony.
I think if he did one of those aura photographs, his would be solid gray. I’d done it at a disastrous new-age yoga retreat in Mexico one summer, and my aura was a mix of red, orange, and purple. Joyful, creative, relaxed.
My ex, who was the one into crystals, boring-ass meditation, and endless yoga classes, had come up almost all white for spiritual. We still followed each other on Insta, and last I saw, he was living his best ommmm life in Thailand.
“I guess I’m hashtag-blessed.” I smiled again. I was naturally flexible, so I supposed I was lucky. I hadn’t thought much about it. “By the way, thanks for agreeing to me training here this season.”
He opened and closed his mouth, his lips a full reddish pink. Usual blank mask in place, he switched legs and lowered his head to his knee. This near, I could see a nerve in his jaw jump where he was clenching. I seemed to make him furious with my presence alone.
It was stupidly immature, but I wanted to poke him and get a reaction. Break through that mask and get him pissed off. Henry had clearly hated me for years, and it did bother me a bit—my inner kid wondering: Why don’t you like me?
I was friendly with everyone, but I didn’t really have close friends. My mom had made it hard getting to know other kids when I was growing up. I wasn’t allowed to go to anyone else’s house in case I ate junk food, and she’d homeschooled me once I won the novice US championship.
When I moved to LA, I was friendly with a lot of people even if we didn’t get super close. But Henry was like a brick wall. Really, I should have left him alone and been grateful. I could understand he wasn’t thrilled I was suddenly training with him.
And I was grateful, so I said, “Seriously, thanks.”
He ignored me.
“It’s cool of you to do me such a big favor.” It was true after all. “I really do appreciate it. Thank you.”
With a barely audible sigh, he lifted his head enough to glance up at me and nod before lowering his face to his knee.
Ah, his Canadian politeness was a weak point. I wondered what I could do to actually get him to smile at me. Not a fake-ass smile while we shook hands on the podium, but something genuine. Warm, even. Something just for me—even though I was very likely his least fave person on the planet.
With Mr. Webber being sick and the Olympics looming, I needed a distraction. This game could make Henry slightly less boring. I grinned to myself as I scrolled.
There was no way he’d be able to resist me.
Chapter Three
Henry
As the door thudded shut, I punched in the code to silence the mildly beeping alarm. Esmeralda’s soft meows welcomed me as she raced over from the dark living area, probably from where she was napping under my bed by the window. Or directly on my pillow.
I crouched to pet her in the ambient red light of the rice cooker in the kitchen. “Did you miss me?” I asked as she rubbed against my legs. “I missed you too.” Honestly, I preferred cats to people much of the time.
She meowed for her dinner as though absolutely starving. After I took off my running shoes and stowed them on the rack inside the hall closet, I flicked on the kitchen light to my left and opened the cupboard. Esmeralda excitedly wove in and out around my ankles.