12

Cash

What is it about a group of teenagers staring at you like you’re some punk that makes your clothes feel too tight and itchy? I scratch under my shirt collar, tugging it away from my suddenly sticky skin while A.J. lifts a hand in greeting.

“Hey, guys. Nice to meet you all. My name is Alden Beaumont, and this is Cash McBryar.” I don’t know what I expected in response, but complete silence wasn’t it. “We’re here to help you all learn how to rock the half pipe.” A.J.’s wide smile is genuine, even if these kids aren’t impressed. A few of them eye my tattoos like I’m some kind of criminal while others exchange nervous glances.

“All right, then,” A.J. says, clapping his hands together. “Why don’t we just get started?”

That’s probably best. According to the program director, Kevin, some of these kids come from rough backgrounds, meaning their trust won’t come easy. Which is understandable. But the best way to build trust is through relationships, so I aim to be their friend for the next six weeks—whether they want me to be or not.

“You three, why don’t you come with me, and the rest of you head with Cash.” The kids A.J. pointed out reluctantly follow him toward one of the skatepark’s smaller ramps. I glance at Kevin, who stands at the back of the group with a hopeful expression, then wave at the remaining kids.

“Hey, guys. Ready to learn some new tricks?”

A kid who I instantly peg as the leader of their little ragtag group scoffs. “From you? You’re like…old.” He crosses his arms over his chest, flicking his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes as he does. “Who even are you, anyway?”

The kid can’t be more than sixteen, but hey, I thought I knew everything there was to know then, too. God bless my aunt Betty. She not only put up with me but knocked some much-needed sense into my thick skull.

“I’m just a guy who wants to help you guys learn some new skills.” I resist the urge to spout all my accomplishments and accolades. It likely wouldn’t impress a know-it-all like him anyway. “Besides twenty-six is hardly old.”

The kid shakes his head. “Old enough to break a hip when you fall trying to teach us your tricks .” The other kids snicker at his joke.

I roll my lips together and nod. “What’s your name?”

“Kai.”

“Why don’t you come over and show me what you got, Kai? Then we’ll decide if there’s anything you can learn from me.”

Without asking them to follow, I turn and walk straight to the largest bowl in the park. This is one of the nicer skateparks in town with varying versions of ramps, flat rails, bowls, and quarter- and half-pipes. It’s great for both beginners and more skilled riders, so all the kids should be able to conquer something by the end.

Once I reach the deck, I stop and face the small group of kids. Three guys and a girl. None of them seem overjoyed to be here, even though they’ve each got a board tucked under their arm and look as if they fit right in with this scene.

“All right. Who wants to go first?”

Kai immediately steps forward just like I knew he would. “I will.” Without any sort of preamble, he angles his board over the lip and flies down the side of the bowl, pumping as he goes. When he reaches the other side, he manages a sloppy looking ollie, then skates to the opposite end and attempts a lip trick. He doesn’t execute it, though, and wipes out, sliding down the wall. The kids beside me ooh and rib him when he hops to his feet and ambles back to the deck, head hung low.

“Nice job. You almost had it,” I say without a hint of mockery in my tone. He did do a solid job, even with the wipeout. With a bit more training, he’d be able to nail that move.

“Yeah, whatever.”

It’s never easy to fail in front of your friends, so I let his retort slide and ask who else wants to go. A small, scrappy-looking kid raises his hands and hops forward. He’s able to slide around the base of the bowl, proving he can at least stay upright on the board. The girl opts out, then the last kid goes, but he isn’t able to do much more than keep his balance.

“All right, color me impressed,” I say, crossing my arms. “With a little more help, you guys could be way better. I’m talking railslides, flips, tricks, noseslides…all of it.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Kai asks. “You look too big and bulky to do any tricks.”

I lick my lips and fight back a smile. “I can hold my own.”

“Prove it.” Kai’s hard stare dares me to back up my claim.

I release a sigh and tighten the bun at the back of my head, tucking in some stray hairs securely before I hold out a hand for his board. “You mind?”

He hands it over and steps back, eyeing me with a smirk that says he’s got me. I decide to let my skill speak for me. I angle the board over the lip, then take off. Once I’m at the bottom, I lean low and pump to gain some momentum on my way up the side. It’s been a while since I’ve completed a varial, but if I don’t hit it right, these kids will never respect me.

I reach the other end and fly into the air, spinning my body a hundred and eighty degrees while doing the same with my board before coming back down. My flow isn’t quite as smooth as it should be, and I wobble.

Thank God I don’t fall off and I’m able to skate back up the side of the bowl to the kids in one piece.

“Whoa,” the littlest kid says. “That was gnarly.”

Kai’s pursing his lips and not making eye contact, which I guess is to be expected. I just showed him up and proved him wrong all in one go.

“Okay,” I say, handing him back his board. “Now who’s ready to learn a few new tricks?”

***

I’m not sure what I was thinking when I offered to train Britta.

Sighing, I toss another weight onto the bar, eyeballing how much I think she’d be able to lift. She looks pretty strong with her lean arms, a generous helping of what look like plush curves, and long, toned legs.

All right. Who am I kidding? I know exactly why I offered to train her.

She’s gorgeous, and the thought of Randy spotting her or coaching her on how to perfect her form made an angry black hole of dread spawn in my stomach. I shouldn’t feel any sort of protectiveness or jealousy when it comes to her, and I definitely shouldn’t feel an ounce of attraction, but I’d be lying if I tried to deny either.

And like an idiot, I let it all show the other day when her snark got the best of me. Now I’m setting up the weight rack for her, waiting to get started once she’s done working on my office.

Ever since she stepped foot in the facility this morning with her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, dressed in form-fitting black leggings and an oversized band tee, I’ve hardly been able to make eye contact with her. It’s childish and dumb, I know, but there’s no way around it. Hopefully she won’t think anything of it and will just add it to my tab of other annoying qualities. She can barely stand me as it is; might as well give her another reason to despise my existence.

Too soon, she’s sashaying out of the office and heading toward me. “I got a good start on it today, I think,” she says, sending a long look toward the office she just exited. “My only rule is that you’re not allowed to peek until it’s done.” She raises both eyebrows at me like I’m some kid about to shake one of my birthday presents to guess what’s inside.

“Okay.”

“I’m serious, Cash.” Still, she stares at me like I’m a bad little boy. “No peeking behind the plastic.”

“Got it. No peeking.”

Seeming satisfied with my answer, her shoulders relax.

I tip my head toward her band tee. “So…The Jealous Concord, huh?”

She peeks down at her shirt. “Yeah. They’re one of my favorites.”

I nod, impressed. “Their drummer is sick. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“You’d know, I guess.” A hint of a smile hitches the corner of her mouth. “I notice you tap your fingers against your thigh a lot. Is that a drummer thing?”

I look down at my hands. “Uh, I guess?”

“Hm. Interesting.” Her smile grows. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to play the drums.”

My tongue gets ahead of my brain, and I blurt, “I could teach you.”

“You… could ?” She doesn’t ask as if she thinks I couldn’t, but more like she’s questioning my willingness. Maybe I shouldn’t be so eager to help her learn a new skill. But again, it’s hard to turn off my sympathetic tendencies.

“I’d be happy to. If you really wanted to learn.”

She dips her chin in a slow nod. “I may have to take you up on that sometime.” Pointing toward the weight set, she asks, “Are you ready to get started, then?”

No . Not at all . “Yep.”

“Great.” She smiles wide. Too wide. Maybe she’s as excited about this little impromptu training session as I am.

“You know, we don’t have to do this,” I say. “I don’t want you to feel pressured—”

“No. I want to do this.” She slides a hand down her long ponytail and directs her attention to the weights behind me. “What are we starting with, Coach?”

“Aren’t you tired from a long day of work?” I hedge one last time, hoping she’ll bite.

“Nope.” Skipping past me, she stops just shy of the bench.

I swallow a groan. I did this to myself. There’s no point in trying to back out when the woman is refusing to give up.

“All right.” I step on the other side of the bench. “What are we training for?”

“Training for ?”

“That’s right. I train athletes. Men and women who are working toward a specific goal.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Ah, a 5k?”

“Is that a question?”

She huffs. “No. There’s one of those…” Snapping her fingers like she’s trying to find the right word, she huffs again. “You know, one of those colorful glitter race thingies? I don’t know what they’re called, but I saw there’s one happening in a few weeks.”

I swipe a hand over my face to hide my smile. “I see. Sounds fun.”

“Oh, they’re super fun. Yeah, the girls and I did one a while back.” Her eyes dart around the space and she avoids eye contact, a sure tell that she’s fibbing.

Why she’d lie is anyone’s guess, but it’s impossible not to find it funny.

“The girls?”

“Yeah. You know…me, Liss, Viv.” She crosses her arms. “You guys should totally join us for the next one.” As soon as she says it, she winces like she didn’t fully think the invite through.

And like an idiot, wanting to call her out on it, I say, “Maybe we will.”

She clears her throat, visibly bothered, and points at the bench. “So, weights first, then?”

I nod and decide to have a little fun. “Yep. Let’s start here.”

“Okay.” She lowers herself to the bench, straddling it, then eases herself backward. “This good?” she asks once her head is under the bar.

“Mmhm.” A bare murmur is the only response I can get out because I don’t trust myself to speak right now.

Never have I ever been so uncomfortable in a woman’s presence before, and I’ve trained at least half a dozen women. There’s no logical reason for it, either, other than this inexplicable pull I feel toward her.

I try to ignore it. I want to ignore it. And yet—

“Are you wanting me to just start of my own or…”

Giving myself a mental shake, I position my body at her head to spot her. “Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Let’s just start with one to see if you can handle the weight.”

She scoffs. Of course she scoffs. Then she grips the bar with determination in her eyes. “I’m sure I’ll do just fine.”

I let my hands hover under the bar as she lifts it off the rest and holds it high. “Good. Now slowly lower it.” She does as I say, arms shaking, and gives it a full pump back up. “Nice. How does that feel?”

Biting her lip, she hesitates. It’s easy to see that she’s warring with what she should do and what she wants to do. She wants to show off, like she’s got something to prove to me, which she doesn’t. But the logical part of her brain is telling her she can’t pretend to be stronger than she is, or she’ll make it worse on herself.

Oddly enough, this situation takes me back to yesterday with Kai.

“I…I need it a bit lighter, please.”

I nod before guiding the bar back to the rest. I’m impressed that she chose honesty over saving face. It speaks to her character. And gives me an idea on how I might reach Kai during our next lesson. I quickly remove the weights, then switch them out for the ten-pound discs.

“Okay. Let’s go again.”

She readjusts her hands on the bar and guides it back, setting up for a rep. Her face relaxes when she pumps the bar back up. This time, there’s a lot less shaking in her arms. “That feels better.”

“Good. Now ten reps.”

Instead of saying something snarky like I think she might, she pumps out the reps like a pro.

“Nice.” I place one hand on the bar, creating a bit of resistance, while I keep the other underneath. “Now. Ten more.”

Her eyes flick to mine. “Okay.” This set takes more of her concentration, but it’s clear she’s determined to give it her best. By the last one, her arms are shaking too much for her to keep going.

“All right, take a breather.”

She doesn’t argue as she slides up to a sitting position and reaches for her water bottle on the floor. After a long sip, she turns to me. “What’s next? Lower body?”

I shake my head, keeping my tone neutral. “Nope. More upper body.”

***

Forty-five minutes later, after working Britta to the point of exhaustion, she flops back on the mat with a groan.

“I can’t,” she pants. “Please. Have…have mercy!”

I bite my lip to keep a sinister smile from creeping onto my face. “You can’t quit now. Just three more reps.”

“Cash, please,” she says, breathless. “If I do another sit up, my sides are going to split wide open.”

A small chuckle does slip out of me then. “That’s not how it works. Besides, you’ve only done forty-seven.”

“That’s forty-six more than I’ve done in the past year!” she cries with a helpless whimper.

“Come on, Britt, you got this,” I encourage her with a pat on her calf. “Push through. Show me what you’re made of.”

“I’m made of butter and croissants and amaretto coffee creamer! Those things run and hide when a personal trainer starts walking toward them…in fact, butter just melts !”

It takes every bit of my self-control not to sputter a hysterical laugh. Instead, I dig deep like I do with my paying clients. “Come on, baby, you got this. Just three more. Give me three more .”

With a feral yell, she hauls her upper body forward, elbows touching her knees.

“Perfect, last two.”

Gritting her teeth, she pulls another one out.

“Nice! One more, baby. Come on. One more .”

Giving it all she has, she completes the last sit up, then flops back on the mat and rolls to her side. “That’s it. I’m done. Cooked. Feed me to the fishes.”

I laugh and offer her a hand. “You did amazing. Now come on. Time to get cleaned up.”

She places her hand in mine, and with her letting me carry most of her weight, I haul her up. We wind up closer than I intended. So close I can make out the tiny gold and brown flecks in her wide hazel eyes. Even sweaty and breathless, she’s stunning.

A whiff of something familiar and delicious reaches me. Before I can piece out where I’ve smelled—where I’ve tasted —that scent before, she steps back.

“Well,” she says, clearing her throat. “I think you proved your point.”

I tilt my head, curious. “What point was that?”

“That I’m out of shape and there’s no way I’ll be running that 5k in a few weeks.” She grabs the towel I hold out to her and swipes it across her face.

She’s right. I was trying to prove a point. But it wasn’t that I thought she was out of shape. Her body is…more than a little tempting.

The only point I was trying to prove was that her bluster won’t help her train any better than if she approached my gym like a humble novice. I want her to know she’s got nothing to prove to me. That there doesn’t need to be this imaginary rift between us. That I don’t have it out for her. Though after that workout, she could probably say otherwise…

“You’ll run the 5k,” I say as I head toward the sanitizing station to pick up the tray of cleaning supplies.

“Okay, enough.” Her exasperated tone has me turning around. “You might as well know that I didn’t sign up for any 5ks.”

My smile starts despite myself. “You don’t say.”

“So we’re done here. I don’t want to train with you anymore.” She crosses her arms in a defiant move.

“Giving up that easy, huh?”

Her jaw works, and I can see the war taking place behind in her eyes. “That depends,” she says with a hard edge to her voice. “Did you purposely try to run me ragged during that workout?” When I don’t immediately respond, she adds, “We didn’t even get on the treadmill once.”

I bite my tongue and hold up my hands. “Fine. You got me.”

She huffs an annoyed laugh. “Figures.”

I step toward her, stopping once I’m within arm’s reach. “But if you’re done being a brat, I promise not to do it again.”

She tsks , shaking her head. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

I shrug. “I’ve always been unnaturally good at paybacks.”

All humor drains from her face, and she fumbles back a step so abruptly I can’t help but reach out a hand to keep her from falling. She twists away from me, closing off her features completely.

“Britta?”

Stomping toward her bag and yanking it off the ground, she sends one last look over her shoulder. “Thanks for the workout.”

She’s gone before my sputtering mind can utter a single goodbye, and I’m left wondering what the heck I said or did to make her leave like that.