Out of Bounds (The Summer Games #2)(5)

As of that morning, I had $203.52 to my name. I’d checked my balance as I’d brushed my teeth, refreshing my phone screen twice before realizing the decimal wouldn’t move to the right two spaces no matter how long I stared at it. My mom had put some cash into my hand on my way out of our small one-bedroom apartment, even though she probably needed it more than I did. I’d sworn to her I had more than enough money to get by on until I returned from Rio, but I was banking on the hope that they would have some sort of meal plan for us at Coach Winter’s house. If not, well, I might just become the first Olympic gymnast to compete on an empty stomach.

I was overwhelmed, tired, and hungry when I first locked eyes with Erik standing shirtless on his porch. His greeting was cold, his smile was nonexistent, and his body language suggested I should crawl back into the SUV and try again later.

I’d almost been relieved when he’d turned, pulled the screen door open, and disappeared back inside his house. I didn’t see what some USGA intern’s mistake had to do with me, but I wouldn’t hold his cold greeting against him. He probably just needed a cup of coffee. Or five.

“Ma’am,” my driver said, interrupting my thoughts. “Should I take the bags inside?”

I waved my hand. “No, no. Just drop them there. I can carry them to—”

To where? I had no clue where I was supposed to go. Would Erik have us stay inside his house or would he relegate us to the woods surrounding the property? Going off our first impression, I’d be sleeping on a rock for the next month.

The driver fidgeted on his feet, as if he didn’t want to leave me with Erik, but I shot him a flat smile and held out the tip I’d finally settled on. I’d debated on it for the last thirty minutes of the car ride and had decided on $5. It wasn’t nearly what he was owed, but enough that it nearly made me break out in a cold sweat as I handed the cash over to him. He basically had to pry the bill out of my hand.

“Thanks again for the ride,” I offered with a tight smile.

He dipped his hat in a small salute. “Good luck in Rio. My family and I will be rooting for you.”

My stomach twisted as he hopped back into his SUV. His tires kicked up gravel as he drove away and I glanced around the property, less than convinced that this was a good idea. Had the Association toured Erik’s property before making their decision to send us here? From what I could see, it looked like there was only a small cabin tucked into a pocket of woods. Where will we stay? Where will we train?

The screen door creaked open again and I turned to watch Erik make his second appearance of the morning, this time wearing a shirt. It didn’t matter; I’d seen his chest already. It was broad and tan and muscled, and objectively speaking, most women would have found it very appealing. I was too busy mourning the loss of my Abe Lincoln to care.

He didn’t say anything as he walked down his porch stairs toward me, but I took the chance to study him. He was going to be my coach for the next two months and I wanted to get a feel for what I was up against. The small headshot I’d seen on my computer back home hadn’t done him justice. Not at all. He was tall and built, with enough muscle on his frame to make me feel tiny by comparison. His dark lashes rimmed a pair of bright blue eyes, and his hair was as dark as his lashes, an inky black, shorter on the sides but long and unruly on top. He’d gone back in to put a shirt on, but he hadn’t touched his hair. For some reason that bothered me.

“What did your email say?” he asked, walking past me and picking up my suitcases off the gravel drive.

I sighed. “That there weren’t many flights available and that I would arrive early. I sent you—well, I sent Eric with a C—two emails about it.”

He shook his head and wandered off with my suitcases in tow. I had no choice but to follow him as he rounded the back of the house.

“Oooookay,” I murmured under my breath.

He glanced over his shoulder at me with a hard stare and I stilled. Behind a computer screen, his blue eyes had been piercing, but here, in real life, they nearly eviscerated me.

I’d had quite a few gymnastics coaches over the years. Vlad, Boris, Patrick, Igor—they’d all been on the right side of fifty with thick accents and thicker mustaches. They were as gruff as they came, but I already had a suspicion Erik would be the worst of them all.

“I tried to warn you that my flight was early,” I said, trying again.

He ignored me and pointed to the left. I let my gaze follow his finger until I spotted a small guesthouse tucked into the tree line behind his house. It was old, with a bright yellow door and a charming rocking chair out front that looked like it needed a good dusting.

Erik crossed the backyard and dumped my suitcases at the foot of the porch. By the time I’d caught up to him, he was already turning back for his house without a second glance in my direction.

“Aren’t you going to show me around the property?” I asked.

He waved over his shoulder as he continued to walk away. “Molly knows her way around.”

For some reason, his flippant response was too much to handle. I was the one who was about to compete in the Olympics. I was the one who had to train with a new coach. I was the one who’d spent half the money in my bank account to fly across the country to train with a man who seemed as pleasant as a porcupine. Instead of turning around and chalking up his bad attitude to a rough morning, I crossed my arms and shouted out after him.