“Gymnastics isn't a self contained sport. It's not only the training, only the skills, only the work you put in. It takes mental toughness and adaptability,” he annunciated, tapping his temple with rapt precision. “Neither of which work cohesively with a hothead or simmering unhappiness. The more fulfilled your life is, the more your gymnastics will improve.”

The corner of his mouth just barely hitched as he rounded the corner of his speech and settled into his exceptionally made point. “So I am coaching you at gymnastics. But for you, the area you're lacking in isn't skill or dedication. It's goddamn life.”

Without apology or hesitation he was gone, time for a rebuttal completely off the table of accessibility.

I watched numbly as he left, not even slowing for the rain that beat an unrelenting rhythm on the metal roof of the warehouse.

Anger seared hot all over my skin, and as a stroke of worry for the safety of riding his motorcycle in this weather came over me, it burned all the way through like acid.

How dare he come into my life and mess everything up?

Until he rammed his bossy way in, the only person I had to worry about was myself. My safety, my opinions, my feelings, and my goddamn wants.

His words bounced like ping pong balls in my head, catching slightly in the net and making me doubt my own serve. I didn’t want to get lost in his fucking speeches and look forward to his smiles. I didn’t want to have to worry about him in the rain or the wind or any other godforsaken showing of mother nature.

I hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t prepared for it, but the bastard had done it all the same.

Unwilling and unable to stop myself, I took off at a run for the door, not pausing to look into the eyes of anyone else as I went and ran straight out into the blinding rain. It pounded my skin like a hammer, the drops were so big, but I fought through the beating in order to wipe my eyes and scan the parking lot. His motorcycle sat untouched, soaked in its spot, and the roar of the rain overwhelmed the rest of my senses.

I looked first to my right and then to my left, but the driving sheets of water almost made me miss him.

White material clung to his chest like a survivor to a life raft, and the unruly scraps of his ugly hair clung to the sides of his face like a wet mop.

Barefoot and broken, I moved my feet toward him, one in front of the other until there was no holding back my run.

His head lifted at the last second as my body crashed into his and my desperate hands grabbed at the side of his face.

Water streamed over the lines of his cheeks like river rocks, and vitality surged into his eyes as vibrantly as a flash of lightning.

My lips attacked his, eating at their softness and rushing to cover the entirety of each surface. He tasted like sin and chocolate and the forbidden dream of a stronger-minded woman.

I lived inside that dream, savoring the feel of his hands as they grasped at my hips and molded my soaked body to his. His mouth grappled with mine until I finally ceded control, and for the first time in my life, I moved in the same direction.

Letting him lead the moment and the kiss, I blocked out the sound of the rain and instead listened to the pound of his honest heart.

One second bled into the next, the threat of discovery only heightening my passion and driving me to grab at his shoulders and chest with ferocity and impatience. He maneuvered me by lifting me up and swinging my bare legs around his hips. I felt him move, but focused on the feel of his advancing lips. Each step only strengthened his fervor, and leached directly into me through the connection of our mouths.

My back hit the side of the building after he rounded the corner out of view, and even if I wasn’t cognizant of it in that exact moment, I knew I appreciated his proclivity for discretion.

“Callie—” he gasped through a breath, moving his mouth from mine to my jaw and working it to the line of my neck.

I couldn’t pull him close enough fast enough.

It felt like I’d been waiting forever.

Like this was as natural as breathing.

And, swaddled by the protection of the rain and a frozen moment in time, I allowed myself to savor it.

To squeeze the grip of my legs tighter and pull his body closer to mine.

Our wet clothes stuck to one another, and my leotard and what was left of his t-shirt left little to the imagination.

But I wanted what little there was.

I pulled at the hem of his shirt as he kissed from my collarbone up my neck and back again, sinking my fingers into the skin above the waistband of his pants and scratching.

He groaned into my mouth, and I moaned into his as we worked together toward the thing I found myself wanting more than anything in that moment—

Connection.

I wanted one with her almost more than I wanted my next breath, but I had no intention of taking it there pressed up against the cool metal of her family’s gym. Not in the rain, not in the sun, and not within five miles of her peers.

We’d already been gone long enough that someone should have noticed, but I guess the rain had kept them from actually looking.

“Callie—” I called, prying my lips from hers and trying to move her hands away from the growing bulge in my pants.

I know. It sounded crazy to me too.

“Nik,” she cooed back, still lost in the moment. I took the opportunity to pull back and look at her, covered in water and flushed from her nose to her ears and all the way down her exposed chest.

Her eyes were closed, and a droplet of water clung to the long, curled line of her lashes. Stretching to reach me, her lips parted and pursed just slightly, and her hips shifted even closer to mine.

The skin of her thighs felt smooth and creamy, the now wet chalk forming a thin film of paste that made my hands harder to move.

I didn’t mind, the feeling of my hands attached to her in a more powerful way than normal only deepened the need in my gut.

Her eyes opened as a result of my lull and looked questioningly into mine. Security fled and nerves started to encroach, her body language changing minutely in preparation for rejection. She thought this was it, the definition of catch and release.

Before she could retreat, I flexed the fingers of one hand deeper into one thigh and moved the other to cup the side of her face. My fingers mingled with the wet, straggling hairs of her ponytail that fell around the sides, and my thumb sought the supple corner of her lips.

I forced it up when it wanted to curve down and reassured her with actions as well as words.

“I’m in this, Cal. I’m not backing out, I’m not running away, and I’m not giving it up. I don’t know what it is about you, but I couldn’t forget this happened if I tried.”

I’d been shocked as shit when her lips first met mine and momentarily mystified that my life had taken a path that somehow ended in this moment—fully enthralled mentally and physically with an athlete I’d been charged to coach and mentor—but at the feel of her and I together all of it faded away. The only thing left was awareness. A distinct recognition that something existed between us that neither one of us could manage to deny.

She seemed surprised that I could read her so well, but with me she’d always been a crystal clear page. No smudges to impede the context or fancy emotional language to get caught up in. Just smooth, simple prose that read true to her every emotion.

If other people had trouble reading her, they weren’t very good at context clues.

“But we can’t do this here any more than you can admit that I’m right.”