Back to You(83)

She was quiet then, and Del knew he needed to respond. He was racking his brain, trying to think of a valid argument, but he couldn’t come up with anything. And not just because she had presented such a strong argument, but because deep down, he wanted exactly what she did.
He ran his hand down his face and made a desperate attempt at a defense. “You’re a virgin.”
“So?” she nearly yelled, her voice indignant as she whipped her head toward him. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m not making fun of you,” he said quickly, trying to mollify her. “I think it’s great that you are.”
Her shoulders softened slightly, but her expression was still defensive.
“But…I’m not taking your virginity. That should be something special.”
“What’s more special than my best fr—”
“It’s out of the question, Lauren,” he said firmly, cutting her off.
Del saw her shoulders drop as she turned forward, the { display: block; text-indent: 5%; font-size: 0.88rem; margin-top: about ry set returning to her jaw.
He’d used her real name, and she knew that meant he was serious.
Lauren closed her eyes, and he turned away from her, looking down at the grass as he picked at it with his fingers. There was a reason he went for the girls he did: because the good girls were too good for him.
And she was the best of them all.
He had to remember that he had a knack for ruining people’s lives. She’d regret him being the one, he reminded himself. It should be another guy.
Although the thought of another guy getting to touch her that way, getting to be that for her, was enough to make him want to put his fist through a wall.
“You know,” she said softly, pulling his attention back to the present, “for someone who’s supposed to be a tough guy, you’re a real chicken shit.”
He whipped his head toward her, his eyes wide with surprise before he laughed.
“We’ll talk about this when you’re sober,” he said through a smile, shaking his head as he reached over to take the bottle from her.
And even though Lauren never brought it up again, he thought about it all the time.

January 2012
It felt oddly comfortable to be back on the mats again.
Lauren looked around the gymnasium as she sat on the floor, stretching her legs. She hadn’t been inside a gymnastics studio in years, and yet she felt immediately at home. The smell of the mats, the sound of the vault springs clanging roughly, the repetitive patter and thuds of hands and feet hitting the mats as someone made a run.
She couldn’t believe she’d lived here all this time and didn’t know about this place. Then again, she’d never looked for one. When she’d first moved to Bellefonte and started teaching, there was hardly free time for anything, much less an old hobby.
Lauren stood and began stretching her quads, glancing at the door before she looked to the clock on the far wall. Five minutes to six. They should be here any minute now.
She smiled, realizing then just how excited she was about the evening.
Michael had called her earlier in the week, starting the conversation with, “I have a favor to ask you,” and immediately following it up with, “You can totally say no.”
He explained to her that Erin’s birthday was that weekend, and when he’d asked her what she wanted to do, she’d said, “I want Miss Lauren to teach me flips.” Lauren had told the class a few stories from her time as a gymnast, and apparently Erin was enthralled.
Michael assured Lauren that he’d made Erin no promises, so if she said no, it would be no big deal—she wouldn’t be letting anyone down. He would just find something else for them to do, and she’d be okay with it.
And in the middle of his rant, pardoning her for something she hadn’t yet declined, she laughed.
“Of course I will, Michael,” she’d interrupted, putting him out of his misery. “I’d love to, actually.”
And she meant it. She had grown so fond of Erin over the past few months; plus, teaching her gymnastics would be combining two of Lauren’s favorite things { display: block; text-indent: 5%; font-size: 0.88rem; margin-top: 0si
Apparently, in the hopes of her saying yes, Michael had already done his homework. As soon as she agreed, he told her about this place, a mere fifteen minutes from where Lauren lived, and said they held “open gym” on Sunday nights from six to eight: for a small fee, gymnasts could come and use the facility to practice routines or fine-tune their skills.
So they’d agreed to meet at six, and when Michael cupped the phone and told Erin that Miss Lauren was going to teach her, she could hear the enthusiastic squeal through Michael’s hand.