Taking another deep breath, I exhaled, unable to hide my splitting grin. My heart was ready to explode. Finally, I was where I was supposed to be.
Glancing around the empty lobby, I wasn’t sure where to go, but the window to my right showed a view of the huge facility. It was completely deceiving from the outside...cue the anxiety. Intimidation definitely hit hard in that moment.
Gymnasts, both male and female, were scattered about, white chalk dusting their skin. I could see not just one, but two floors, three sets of uneven bars, and seven balance beams, along with two vaults. There was also a tumble track, various equipment for men, and a high bar with a foam pit and resi-mat, a huge mat on top of a foam pit used for practicing softer landings. Farther back were a bunch of doors. I had no idea what they were for, but I was curious to what they led to.
Even my parents seemed to be in awe of the gym, if their wide eyes were any indication. A shiver shot down my spine and goose bumps coated my arms in enthusiasm, as a rush of adrenaline began beating through my veins at the sight before me.
The sound of a slamming door from behind me shook me out of my trance, compelling me to look over my shoulder. My parents followed the sound and I spotted a tall, fit man. With his hands on his hips, his eyes surveyed the lobby and connected with my parents’ before trailing down and locking with mine, his narrowing gaze holding me in place. All the air left my lungs. His powerful presence demanded attention, and without a doubt, he had all of mine.
Never in my life had I seen someone so unbelievably gorgeous. There was no other word I could use to describe him. His commanding eyes made me think it was possible he could be a coach, but no coach I’d ever seen had been so attractive. Come to think of it, none of them had ever been under the age of forty without a potbelly and receding hairline. This man was solidly built and full of muscle.
A silent breath escaped my lips as he stalked toward us with power and poise. My heart nearly hurdled into my throat as I stared like he was some sort of Adonis. Dark stubble dusted his square jaw, full lips that begged for attention, straight as an arrow nose. Combined with inky black hair and olive skin with golden undertones, sweet baby Jesus, the man was perfection.
Crossing the room, he extended a hand.
“Frank, it is good to see you again.” His forearm flexed, the veins signifying the muscular strength he wielded. It was incredibly difficult to tear my eyes away as he gave my father a firm handshake. He was absolutely, drop-dead gorgeous. Avery would call him fucking hot. My best friend loved to add “fucking” to the beginning of everything.
“Kova.”
This was my dad’s friend, and he owned this place. Interesting. He looked like he was fresh out of college, no more than twenty-five max. Dad didn’t have very many young friends I was aware of—I could count on one hand the friends I had met who were younger than him. They typically had graying hair, crow’s feet, and overworked, aging skin. The complete opposite of what was standing right in front of me.
So Kova was Konstantin. Where the nickname came from was beyond me, but the more talking they did, and the camaraderie I witnessed, the more I realized this was indeed the man my dad had told me about.
I remembered hearing the name Konstantin years ago in the gymnastics circle. He was one of the most decorated gymnasts to date, bringing home more medals to Russia than any other male athlete ever had. He’d competed in two Olympics and dominated each of them. He was supposed to try for a third Olympics but pulled out at the last minute due to unforeseen circumstances. Rumors circulated, some even saying steroid use was the reason he didn’t compete, but to my knowledge he never publicly gave a reason for his absence.
“Welcome to World Cup Academy of Gymnastics.”
That accent was most definitely Russian. For a gymnast, Kova was tall. Probably around six feet, give or take a few inches. Paired with his profoundly muscular shoulders and firm chest, evidenced by how tight his shirt stretched, he looked like the perfect package, if there ever was one.
My eyes drifted down, and my cheeks bloomed with heat. Oh, my God. Now, I was checking out his package!
“You remember my wife, Joy, and our daughter, Adrianna. Or Ana as we call her.”
I internally rolled my eyes. My name was Adrianna, not Ana. I always hated the nickname. It made me feel like a child being reprimanded, yet they continued using it, knowing how much I detested it. Grin and bear it, I told myself. Grin...and bear it.
As Konstantin shook my mother’s hand, I chuckled on the inside. Her hand was enveloped in his and I would bet she worried he’d chip her nail polish. It was a damn handshake for Christ’s sake, yet she acted like she was so fragile. There was nothing more annoying than when my mom acted like she was made of porcelain. I guarantee her dainty, cold fingers rested in his hand like they were dead, which only seemed to match her icy demeanor.
“Hello again, Kova. You have a nice...facility,” she tried to say with sophistication. I could see right through her bleached teeth and her pretentious personality. An air of money surrounded her and she wore it like a second skin. My mother and I couldn’t be more opposite.
Konstantin turned my way and I nearly lost all common sense. His emerald eyes were encircled by a thick black ring with faint web like lines in the irises. Mesmerizing. They reminded me of a rainforest—beautifully alluring, uncharted territory with no true knowledge of what lurked all around. Framed between thick lashes, his gaze was penetrating, like he could read my deepest, darkest secrets.
“Ana, it is a pleasure to see you again. Last time I saw you, you barely reached my knees and were running around with pigtails. You have grown so much,” he said.
Pigtails? I think I stopped with the pigtails around five. If that was the case, he was clearly over twenty-five.
“Adrianna.” I emphasized my full name. The ends of his lips curved upward just a hint and my stomach tightened. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear demurely and returned the smile.
“Are you sure you are ready for this? The elite program is completely different than level ten. Much more intense. I have already explained this to your father, but I want to assure you this is going to be nothing like your old gym. You are going to be exhausted, and probably bruised and sore until your body adjusts to the training. Just because your dad and I go way back, do not think for one minute I will be easy. I hope you are ready for that kind of conditioning.”
The overwhelming urge to repeat his thick accent hit me with a vengeance. I wanted to throw my hands in the air and speak extra loud like a boisterous Italian and repeat every word Konstantin had just said. The way he spoke was so sexy, and that whole intense demeanor thing he had going on worked in his favor.
“I am,” I responded confidently.
Glancing back at my parents, he said, “How about we head into my office and go over some paperwork before taking a tour of the gym. Yeah?”
The next thirty minutes were spent going over all the fine print and signing medical release forms. For all I knew, my parents could have sold me into slavery.
My mother appeared as if she suffered from constipation no matter how hard she tried to look composed. Gymnastics, along with legal documents, were so out of her element. Pretending to be a concerned mother was not in her comfort zone. Charity fundraisers were more her thing, where she could dress up, plaster on a phony smile, and act like she gave a shit about something. It was hard to blame her as my own thoughts drifted around the room, taking in the various medals and trophies, quickly losing interest in the topic myself.
The paperwork didn’t interest me, all I wanted to do was get on the floor and feel the carpet beneath my feet. Floor was my absolute favorite event, though I excelled at vault. It was where I felt free and could let go, flying through the air at my heart’s desire. I loved tumbling, loved defying gravity, and secretly prayed to God I wouldn’t land on my ass each time.
I despised beam with pure hatred. But that was another story entirely.
I looked over at my dad in deep conversation with Konstantin. He was interested in knowing more about my training, but then again, he liked reading the small print and knowing exactly what he was paying for. It was why he’d done so well with his own company. No one could nickel and dime him. He loved money and made sure he knew where every penny he made went. And it didn’t matter this was a friend he should probably be able to trust, he’d still cover his bases. However, I wasn’t stupid. I knew this was more about the business side of things for him than giving me something I loved and was passionate about. This was just another deal for him to analyze and negotiate over, rather than my future.
In the midst of explaining the forms and going over my strict training regimen, I heard the words ‘dance class’ and my attention snapped back to the conversation.
“Dance class?” I butted in.
Konstantin lifted a perfectly arched brow, his eyes narrowing as if just realizing I was in the room.
“I was mentioning to Frank that you will be taking ballet class, along with jazz.”
My mouth gaped open. “Ballet?” I asked, annoyance thick in my tone. Please tell me this was a joke. There was no way in hell I’d take ballet. I hated ballet.
“Yes, Adrianna. Ballet. It helps with posture and grace on the floor. Not to mention, flexibility and core strengthening.”
“I have grace and fluidity on the floor already. I don’t need extra dance classes.”
I never had to take ballet back home, so I was certain I didn’t need to take it here. All these extra classes would take away from the one thing I came here to do, and I refused to let that happen.
Konstantin slowly placed his expensive looking, shiny pen down. It was unnerving how he stared at me and I wanted to look away, but I held strong. I kept my eyes trained on him, focusing on the black flecks glittering in his eyes, showing him I wasn’t weak.
“I am going to make it easy for you. You play by my rules here. You either take the classes or you will not train at World Cup.”
Easy. As if I was some moron who didn’t comprehend complex words. My parents hadn’t spent thousands of dollars a year on a private tutor for nothing. I’d had straight A’s since the fifth grade, I was already taking Pre-Cal and college level courses, and he was treating me like I couldn’t spell D-I-C-K.
Slapping on a fake smile, I said in a sugary voice, “Ballet really isn’t necessary. It’d be a complete waste of time. I’ve never needed it before and I don’t need it now.” I finished with a few rapid blinks and waited for his response. This was what I liked to call my “social event face”, a skill my mom taught me. Sweet, innocent, and full of shit, and if you lived in Palm Beach it was considered a standard fashion accessory.
Konstantin paused and simply stared at me for a few heartbeats. Just when I thought I’d won, he pulled back the papers my dad had in his grip. Looking to my dad, he said, “I can see
Ana
is not ready for this kind of commitment, Frank. It takes dedication, hard work, and most importantly,
listening
skills. And until she understands it is my way—”
My chest heaved, blood pumping rapidly through my heart. He was rejecting me, saying I couldn’t train here, but I refused to let that be an option. So I cut in before he could speak another word in that stupid Russian accent of his I loved only moments earlier.
“How many of these classes do I have to take?”
He looked back at me. “As many as you need.”
I clenched my teeth and dipped my head slowly in surrender. Despite his good looks, he acted like a total ass, and that was something I wasn’t used to.
Konstantin slid the papers back to Dad, but his gaze never wavered from mine. “I spoke with your old coach and asked about your current training, where you could use improvement. He said you lacked flexibility, which is where ballet comes into play—it helps open your hips, stretch your legs, and gives long lean body lines gymnastics often hardens. Contrary to what you believe, he also mentioned you could use more grace. Dance is an important element to have for balance beam and floor. We want you to flow, not come across as a robot. With that being said, an evaluation will determine what your specific needs are.”
My blood pressure climbed and it took everything in me not to refute his statement. Just when I thought I was moving forward, I really took ten steps back. I was not a stiff robot on the floor like he insinuated. I knew how to move for fuck’s sake.
“And all these extra dance classes—ballet and jazz—are included in her new gym schedule?” My dad piped in, and thank God he did. I was ready to blow a fuse. “She’ll be doing two-a-day, along with training for a total of forty hours a week?”
Konstantin turned back to my dad. “Yes, she will have two days off. What she chooses to do with those days is up to her, but when she is here, she is under my supervision and the control of World Cup, along with the other coaches. As much as I want to put gymnastics first, school is more important, so we work around a schedule for all the gymnasts. Once it is set, she will have to take responsibility and balance it. Typically, there will be practice in the morning where we focus on strength and conditioning, break for school, then gymnastics in the afternoon. Dance will be on rotation.” He took a breath and continued. “Most gymnasts here are in public school, so their hours are always consistent. A few girls share an apartment to help keep their expenses low. I understand you have rented an apartment for her?”