One corner of her mouth curled up in aggravated astonishment.

“Though,” I said with a lift of one finger, “I am the one who’s helped revive you from your grumpy ways. And forced you to say hello. So, really, I did fix it.”

She shook her head and scrunched her nose with ill-concealed humor. “Just shut up and follow me to Vault.”

I crossed my arms and hid a smile behind the cup of one hand. She turned in a huff, whipping the tail her long, tied back hair over her shoulder as she did.

“Yes, ma’am,” I called to her back, inconspicuously watching her butt sway side to side as she walked in front of me.

“Ew.” Her head jerked around to look at me. “Don’t call me ma’am. That’s creepy.”

“How about I call you Peacock?” I offered magnanimously.

“Um, no.” She squinted further in disgust. “Pea, maybe. You can keep the cock for yourself.”

“I have the cock. I am the cock. I do not want to keep it to myself.”

“What is it that’s happened that all of a sudden makes me feel like you might be a sex offender?”

“Stop!” I choked out through a laugh, looking around cautiously since she hadn’t bothered to manage her volume.

“Just do that whole coaching thing you’re supposed to be doing.”

“I can’t coach you until you actually do something,” I pointed out, leaning against the wall next to the vault and gesturing to the end of the runway.

“Always me having to do all the stuff,” she grumbled good-naturedly as she retightened the lion’s paws around her wrists.

“I tell you what,” I offered with a gallant bow as I shoved away from the wall. “I’ll set up your spring board for you.”

She stuck out her tongue. “That’s your job.”

I nodded again, smiling as I did and wagging my brows. “And gymnastics is yours.”

Her face was alight and alive, and I soaked it in, letting it feed my mind and body.

With one last shake, she turned and retreated, heading for the end of the runway and trusting me to set everything up to her liking.

We joked and jested like that for the rest of the day, and if I was honest, I hadn’t even considered the fact that people were watching us and taking notice. That our normally aggressive banter had toned way down in aggression, and the way we looked at each other may as well have been a beacon for anyone looking to find an example of flirtation and affection.

I’d made certain not to touch her with my hands unless she legitimately needed a spot, but I didn’t really have to.

The way I touched her with my eyes already said it all.

“You only wear purple. Why?” I asked as I sat across from her on the end of the rod floor, wrapping my ankles in layer after layer of tape in order to tumble.

“Ha,” she mock-laughed looking down to the offending material and then away toward the other side of the empty gym. “I guess I’m just wearing my bruises on the outside.”

“That’s not it,” I denied as I looked at the back of her head. She was lying, and she wasn’t doing it well.

With a slow but unyielding turn, her eyes met mine. “How can you tell?”

“Because then you’d be in red,” I said simply. Her face turned questioning, but she didn’t say anything. By now, she knew I’d explain. I always did.

“You’re insides are bloodied, not bruised.”

“Geez,” she groaned, mildly affronted.

I chuckled. “Come on, Cal. You know I like your bloody inner gore.”

An agitated sigh left her mouth in staccato.

“Why do you really wear it?”

She shook her head and looked at a swirl in the material at her neck.

“It’s stupid.”

“So what if it is?” I asked.

Her arm reached out in order to shove me playfully until my back hit the floor. “Thanks. You’re supposed to tell me that there’s no way it’s stupid.”

I shrugged as I sat up, curling my abs and reaching for the tape for my fingers as I did. “Sorry. But it might be. And that’s okay. You’re allowed to do stuff for stupid reasons every once in a while. I don’t think the fact that I look for the number nine in everything I do is logical or intelligent, but I still do it. Because I can.”

“You look for the number nine in everything?”

“I just said I did,” I confirmed with smile and tilt of my head.

“Do I look like a nine?”

“No.”

“What? Not curved enough for you?” she teased, rolling her neck to the side and trying to connect it with her body.

“No,” I replied. “You don’t look like a nine,” I paused, “because you’re a ten.”

Her eyes dilated both at the corniness of my assertion and the meaning behind it. She knew I said it not to get a reaction, but because I meant it.

Instead of lingering in the moment, she cleared her throat and went back to the original question.

“When I was younger, it was my favorite color. I wore it all the time because that’s what twelve year olds do.” She picked at the tight, short fiber of the foam carpet covering the rods. “But I loved gymnastics then. Looked forward to every day, every split, and each and every event. Last year when I started feeling like I’d lost my way, I don’t know…I guess I thought this might help.”

My head cocked just slightly, wanting so badly to ask her more about her lack of love for the sport and why she kept doing it anyway. But I didn’t want to ruin what I knew was already a powerful admission on her part, so I forced myself to let it go.

Mostly.

“Did it?”

She laughed, the end of her ponytail swaying with the negative shake of her head. “Not even a little bit.”

Her answer made my skin itch, so much so that my mental cortisone nearly wore off, but I fought it, keeping my question innocent rather than probing.

“But you’re still doing it?” I queried after looking from her very purple leotard to her face and back again.

Her shoulders went up to her cute ears and back down. “I bought all new leotards and got rid of my old ones. They’re all purple.”

My laugh started as a low wheeze and turned into a barking cough as I fell back to horizontal on the floor.

She scooted toward me suddenly, covering my body with hers in annoyance.

“Don’t laugh at me!”

“I couldn’t stop if I tried, my little Pea,” I admitted, happy and unable to hide it. There with her, in the gym alone at night with her simple admission floating through the air and mingling with all the leftover stirred up chalk of the day, I couldn’t make myself want to be anywhere else.

She cringed at the nickname, but I found myself liking it. She was tiny in size, and yet, her presence was undeniable just like the pea under a certain princess’ mattress.

The weight of her body settled on top of mine as her hands left the support of the ground and ventured into my hair. Pushing clumps and sweeping individual strands different directions, she played with the mop of it mindlessly for minutes as she did nothing else but stare directly into my eyes.

With bated breath, I did my best not to disturb her, desperate for her to keep it up.

Her nails unintentionally scratched at my scalp, and the motion of her actions tugged at the nerves at each sensitive root. It felt relaxing and personal and contentedly natural.

Just as she’d accused, while she worked, I watched.

The skin of her face was smooth and unflawed, and the lashes of her eyes curled with natural length and luster. She didn’t wear much makeup from what I’d seen, instead sticking to striving for a subtle girl next door mystique.

She failed miserably.

Only because she couldn’t hide the dimension of her irises or change the curve of her smile. Each cheek hooked all the way to her eyes when laughter robbed her face of seriousness, and raw power shone off of every muscular line of her perfectly honed body.