Dance, primarily ballet, corrected my posture that was thrown off by the constant bending and twisting of gymnastics. Just like ballerinas, gymnasts needed to be tight with every movement—eliminating unwanted movement—control. Spotting a sloppy dancer was easy, even to an untrained eye. Gymnastics was the same way and it all started with building my core.
After pushing a few buttons,
Love Me Like You Do
by Ellie Goulding vibrated through the speakers, rejuvenating my spirit in its wake. I felt a hundred times better already and allowed her poetic voice to take me away.
“Y
OU ARE DROPPING
your chest.”
I jumped, snapping my back leg down and spinning around in fear, my heart racing. Kova’s unsympathetic voice startled me out of my concentration and I stared straight at him like a deer in headlights.
“What?” I asked breathlessly.
“Your chest. You are dropping your chest,” he stated for the second time.
He casually leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. He took in the length of my body with a long gaze. Instead of a leotard, I went with black mini workout shorts and a green sports bra. Moisture dampened my skin as sweat trickled down the small of my back. I’d removed my oversized T-shirt earlier, throwing it to the ground. My long hair was thrown into a messy bun at the top of my head. Little hairs had slipped out I hadn’t cared to fix.
I thought about what Kova said and I nearly growled. This man. I swear, he did everything he could to get under my skin. I most definitely was
not
dropping my chest.
“No, I’m not.”
The corner of his mouth tugged up, as if to say,
Are you really going to challenge me?
Dropping his arms, Kova prowled forward with determination. Each step made my heart beat a little faster. My skin prickled as he neared me, vibrations coursed through my body. I was suddenly hyperaware of his presence and how secluded we were in the dance room.
“Yes, you are,” he countered. “Do it again.”
Taking a few paces back, I inhaled deeply and visualized the Jeté before I moved again. With my shoulders relaxed back and my chest arched forward, I sashayed in two steps with my arms gracefully out to the side. Kicking one long leg forward, followed by a flick of my hip twisting in the air to bring my other leg around, I scissor kicked my legs quickly by tapping at the toes before I landed.
I looked at Kova who wore a lovely, sardonic glimmer in his eyes.
“Are you still going to tell me you did not drop your chest?”
“I didn’t. I know I didn’t.”
Kova tilted his head to the side. “You have too much power in your back swing, so you cannot balance it out. Do it again, but do not try and force open your legs as wide. Watch yourself in the mirror.”
I did as he said, only this time it felt less than perfect.
“That was a half-assed turn,” I admitted.
Kova’s lips curved upward, his eyebrows lowered, and I felt his agreement in my stomach.
“It was. It was terrible. But I told you why and you seem to think I am lying.”
I did it again. And again. Four more tries and I became increasingly frustrated with each step I took, all while he watched closely with scrutinizing eyes. I wanted to prove him wrong, because surely I would know if I was dropping my chest or not.
After I finished the fifth turn, I ran my fingers through my sweaty hair and clenched it, groaning in irritation over the fact I couldn’t master a move as basic as this.
“Show me how to do it correctly.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Please?”
He nodded silently. “Come with me.”
Following Kova, he led me to the center of the floor. He stood in front of me and grabbed my forearms so my palms would rest in the crest of his elbows. He tugged me forward until both our arms were tightly bent at our sides, holding each other in place.
Looking directly in my eyes, he explained. “You are going to jump once for power, then jump again and do the same move as before, only this time you are holding my arms. It will give you momentum, but will also allow you to condition your back kick and keep your chest up. It is the same as you would do on the barre, but I am holding you. Your chest will not drop in my arms the way it would on the barre.”
I nodded, took a deep breath and jumped into the kick, only to lean into his chest with a grunt, getting a hint of his cinnamon and citrus scent but with a trace of something more. Whatever it was, he smelled divine, and it assaulted my senses.
“Again. But this time stretch your legs as wide open as a kick split will allow you. Do it ten times, but on the last one stop with your leg in the air. Got it?”
My brows scrunched together. “But you told me not to open them as wide just before.”
“This is different. You will not be able to lean in my arms. Just trust me.”
I jumped and then kicked back ten times, just as he had instructed me to, stretching my legs as wide as possible with each kick. Kova was right. I couldn’t drop my chest here and I felt the slight pinch in my back at this angle. I didn’t move. My palms were sweating and I wish I’d chalked up my hands before I gripped his forearms to steady my balance. Our eyes stayed locked the whole time, never wavering. His persistence to see me complete this kick correctly shifted something inside of me.
Out of breath and leaning toward Kova’s chest, I waited with my leg elongated in the air behind me for him to speak. The air circulated around us from the exercise and I could smell him even better at this angle, not that I should want to, but I also couldn’t stop myself from drawing in a small breath.
God, he smelled so good.
Something felt different tonight while I waited in his arms to critique my form. I became more aware of the strength he exuded, the power in his hold, the way he stared down through his thick eyelashes. The complete domination. My stomach clenched at the sudden thought of what his strength could do to me...and the fact that we were alone in the gym...again.
Craning my head as far as my neck would allow from this odd angle, I peered through damp bangs that fell in my face.
The look from Kova’s eyes seared heat into my skin. His fingers tightened under my forearms as if he was angry. Surely, I hadn’t done it wrong again. A move that was normally so easy for me was giving me such problems tonight. Him staring at me like he wanted to wring my neck wasn’t doing wonders for me either.
“What did I do wrong?” I asked breathlessly.
Kova’s jaw locked back and forth at my question.
“Point your toe. Bring your chest higher.”
Really? That was it? Point my toe?
He released the shell of my elbows and slowly slid his hands over to my ribcage,
my bare ribcage,
to rest right under my breastbone where the bottom of my sports bra sat. His hands held firm as my heart beat roughly against my chest.
“Steady your breathing. Remember what I taught you. Breathe with your stomach,” he said, voice low.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t think.
And I tried not to take deep breaths as if I was gasping for air.
His touch ignited a cluster of sparks throughout my body that went off simultaneously. Never having this reaction to another person before, I didn’t know how to respond to his presence. Heat pooled in my belly as my breath caught, not to mention, my calf and ankle started burning while my leg was still held high behind me.
“Your chest is too low and your hips are not squared,” he stated, annoyed.
This fucking guy. He really knew how to push my buttons. He was irritating me, insinuating I didn’t know what I was doing. My chest might have been at a little low, but my hips were most definitely squared.
My nose flared and I dropped my leg and stood defiantly. His warm hands slid to my waist then down to my hips.
“My hips are squared,” I said through gritted teeth. “I learned that in beginner’s gymnastics.”
He challenged me.
“Either you had a shit for brains coach, or you just never comprehended the correct way to do it. Your hips are
out
and your chest is
low
. This is a very common mistake among gymnasts if they are not trained correctly from the beginning. I have seen you do this during practice many times and I thought we might have corrected it last time you were in here, but I guess I was wrong. Do not argue with me again over this, Ria. I have been doing this longer than you have been alive. I know what I am talking about, little girl. Now get over to the barre and I will show you how wrong you are.”
“Little girl?” I mocked and pushed at him. “I didn’t ask you to come in here to help me out. You just walked right in and interrupted my time. And if you did see me mess up during practice, I highly doubt that you’d keep your mouth shut. You love to pick at every little thing I do.
‘Not enough. Faster. Higher. Why are you doing it this way? That is no good. Again,
’ is all that seems to come out of your mouth. If it’s not that, you mumble in Russian under your breath.”
My gut dropped. Oh God. Maybe I shouldn’t have added in a faux Russian accent.
He stepped forward, and my heart skipped because I refused to step back. In a deathly quiet voice, he said, “If your obnoxious music was not blaring and echoing throughout
my
gym, I would not have had to come in here. Get your ass to the barre. There are so many things I need to correct where you are concerned. If I do not correct you now, you will just make more work for me down the line. There are not enough hours in the day for that, or patience.”
Dropping my arms, I stepped back. “This wasn’t why I came to the gym. I purposely came when no one was around so I wouldn’t have to be ridiculed for every damn thing I did. I needed to not think about a gymnastics routine for once and let go for a few moments alone. I needed to be free, not having to practice.”
“Needed to be free? Your life is gymnastics!” He roared. “It is all you are allowed to think about. Eat. Sleep. Flip. Repeat. Nothing more! I am not here to waste my time for fun. You are here because I get results and can take you to the next level, which is what you wanted. You want the Olympics.
You
. Not me. I have already been. You need me, not the other way around. I do not need you, do you understand? I took you in as a favor, a bargain for a bargain. If you are only here for fun, then we are done. I have spent a ton of time working on you, perfecting you, more so than I have ever done with another gymnast, God knows you need it. At least you can show a little respect in the process.”
I hated him and his arrogant attitude and his deep green eyes and pompous tone. My chest was tight, his words struck hard. He brought me down and I didn’t like it.
But he was right. And I despised admitting it.
Gymnastics was my life. It was everything I’ve ever worked for. I needed to shut up and take it, or take a hike.
Standing on my toes, I spun around and headed to a ballet barre that mounted to the wall.
“Teach me the correct way, Oh Master,” I said sarcastically. I couldn’t resist. I knew I was being bold tonight, more than usual. He probably didn’t know what to do with my impulsive attitude, seeing as the only thing I did these days was take orders during practice. I’d reached my breaking point.
“Grab the barre and kick your leg back. Hold it there.”
I didn’t hear him move, but Kova was suddenly standing next to my shoulder. One of his hands gripped my inner thigh while the other was flat between my breasts to hold me in place. His fingers were splayed out, one fingertip accidently touching the plump mound of my breast. I gasped, sucking in the dense air and wondered if he realized it.
His warm fingers scorched my flesh. Kova squeezed my thigh hard, moisture pooled between my legs. I bit down on the inside of my lip, having to hide my reaction to him. I needed to control it, but I didn’t know how.
“Look in the mirror,” he spat out.
I looked.
“See? Your chest is angled too low for the height of your leg. Push off the barre with your arms to bring your chest up.”
I raised my chest and a slight burn resonated in my back.
“More.”
I did, but the burn crept higher up my back at the uncomfortable angle. “I can’t go any more.”
Kova shot daggers through his eyes at the word can’t. Taking matters in his own hands, he ignored my resistance and pushed my chest up himself, never letting go of my leg, and bent my body in an unnatural position. I grunted as a gush of air burst from my lungs. I tried to lower my leg, but he wouldn’t give.
“Your weakness is your lack of flexibility.”
“I know,” I gushed out. I was in serious pain and he wanted to have a conversation?
“You know and yet you do not condition yourself the way I taught you? Why did I spend time in those private sessions if you are not going to use the drills? That is not proving yourself to me.”
He let up an inch so I could speak. “I’ve been conditioning, apparently not enough. I’ll do more.”