They nod, and then Torres turns to look at me. “Like I told you, Lakes. Biltmore has a runner who is just like you. I’ve seen her run. She’s quick and you will be the one up against her. This will be the first time you race her, but not the last. Your start was strong, but you got slack towards the end. The end is when you need to be the strongest.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He looks me over. “Now let’s run it again.”
THIRTY-TWO
I don’t know how it works to separate track and business from the personal shit with Amber, but it works with us. Almost a little too well, if I’m being honest.
I was sure she’d make things weird once school started again. Try to be close to me, follow me around, but she’s kept her distance. She’s been focused on running all week and I admire that. She knows she has some serious competition tomorrow and she isn’t fucking around. She wants to beat that girl.
When practice is over Thursday, I go to my office to get my running sheets in order for Hamilton. She needs the line-ups for each race. As I collect the papers, there’s a knock at my door.
“Yeah?” I call without looking up.
The person doesn’t respond, so I finally give whoever it is my attention, only to realize it’s Amber.
“Is this a good time to talk?” she asks.
I lower the stack of papers in my hand, turning to face her. “Talk about what?”
“Well, I watched a tape that was on YouTube of the girl I’m competing against tomorrow. She’s good, Torres.”
“Yeah, Lakes, she is.” I fold my arms. “But you’re better. You can beat her, so long as you keep your head in the game.”
“Well, yeah, I’m trying to keep my head in it but every time I remember you’re around watching me I get…well, I get nervous as hell.”
I drop my arms as she steps fully into my office. “What did I tell you before? You have to focus, Amber. You have to try and forget about it for now.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Forgetting about it?”
My eyes shift to the wall next to her. I can’t answer that right now. Like hell I’m going to tell her before her first race of the season how I’d love to slam and lock the damn door and bend her over my desk right now. Especially since she’s wearing tight yoga pants today. Every time she bent over to prepare for her practice race, I had to look away.
I move closer to her. “Make me a promise,” I say in a low voice.
“What kind of promise?”
“Promise me that tomorrow you will only focus on the race. We’re traveling, you’re going to ride for an hour to their track. Listen to some music to get you pumped. Focus on your energy. Your strength. Don’t worry about me or what we did, Lakes. I need you to put all the practicing we did to use tomorrow.”
She looks into my eyes carefully and nods. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Now get out of here. Go get some rest.” I step away to pick up the stack of papers.
She walks to the door, peering over her shoulder, and smiles before walking out of sight. I draw in a deep breath, trying to ignore the whispers in the back of my mind. The whispers telling me to take more from her. Be with her. Show her what else I can do to that body of hers. Close the damn door and do something.
Fortunately, I keep myself under control. This race is important to both of us. The games, flirting, and fooling around can wait for now, no matter how much it kills us.
THIRTY-THREE
The race is in thirty minutes and I’m having a hard time concentrating.
For starters, I saw the girl I’m competing against up close and personal. Normally, competing doesn’t intimidate me, but she has great physique and she’s extremely confident. She walked right past me like I was a nobody, laughing and joking around with her friends, which made me wonder if her coaches even warned her about me.
I studied her tapes all week, watching how she started and set herself, what she clocked during the 200-meter dashes, and even an interview she had for the Biltmore track team. She’s currently a junior and the best on her team.
I’m confident in my skills too and I try to hone that in as I stretch and prepare for the sprint with the other girls…but then I see Torres on the track talking to some woman.
She’s clearly a coach, but she’s not like any coach I’ve ever seen. Her skin is tan, her hair in rich brown curls. She has bright green eyes and sparkly white teeth. She touches his shoulder a lot as she talks, and he smiles at her a lot, which doesn’t sit well with me considering he doesn’t smile much with anyone.