Below the Belt(12)

“Should we turn the air up higher?”

Marianne nearly bit her tongue holding in a yelp of surprise as Levi stepped up beside her.

“What?”

He gave her a clinical once-over. “You’re flushed. Is it too hot in the training room?”

“On the contrary.” She smiled a little and stepped back into her domain. “That gym is a sweatbox. Compared to that, it’s like the inside of an ice bar in here.”

That was a true statement. True enough, anyway. They kept it a cool sixty-eight in her room to help athletes coming in who might have overheated themselves. But the hot air from the gym wasn’t the real reason she was flushed.

Just go stick your head in the ice machine, Cook. God.

She waited until Levi grabbed the towels he had come in for and darted back out before slowly edging her way to the doorway again—and immediately felt like a creepy stalker. She had every right to watch the guys train. That’s why she was here; to watch, to educate, to help. She couldn’t help if she was stuck in her room twiddling her thumbs and quizzing coeds on the skeletal system.

With a quick glance around, she stepped fully out of the door and into the gym. The air was thick with sweat; the salty scent nearly knocked her back a step. Thank God she’d chosen to wear shorts today instead of long khakis, like she’d considered. Her legs would be sweating in under a minute in these conditions.

A group of Marines sprinted past, one of them sending an abbreviated wave as they zoomed on by. She recognized him as Tressler, the one from the bar, and smiled a little. Even now, he couldn’t keep himself from paying attention to a woman. At this rate, he was going to run into a wall if Nikki said three sentences to him.

A few Marines were with speed bags, but nodded respectfully as she walked by. A few more were running footwork drills, using short orange cones and a ladder formation marked out on the wooden floor with painter’s tape. Coach Ace nodded as well while she walked past, then motioned for her to stop a moment.

“How are things, Coach?”

“Just what I was about to ask you.” He leaned forward a bit, and she had the momentary mental image of a dark tree bending slightly in the wind. “See any problems yet?”

“Too early to tell. Everyone’s a tough guy at this stage in the game.”

He grunted, then walked up behind a lanky Marine at a speed bag and gave him a quick love tap to the back of the dome. “Keep your eyes on the bag, Marine.”

“Yes, Coach,” he answered quickly in clipped syllables, just as if he’d said, “Yes, sir,” instead.

“I want tough guys, Ms. Cook.”

“Marianne.”

“Cook,” he compromised. “What I don’t want is idiots. I can’t field a team from a bunch of half-busted men. And the Corps is going to get mighty pissed if I return their warriors broken and have the balls to ask for a dozen more.”

She bit back a laugh. “Probably.”

“Know anything about yoga?”

She blinked in surprise. “As a theory, or in actual practice?”

“Both, though the latter is what I’m interested in. I figure yoga might help these chuckleheads stretch out. They’re all muscle, but most of them can’t touch their own damn toes. I need all-around athletes, not meatheads built like freezers that can’t move or evade a blow.”

More and more she liked this man. “I’m not really a yoga girl. Pilates, though, that’s what I’m into. But I don’t believe I should be trusted to teach a class. I do know a friend who’s certified in both. She also does some health coaching.” She gave him a smile. “Want me to set up a yoga session? She could come here to the gym to do it. I think her schedule is flexible.”

“I’d like that, yes. If you could be there, watching, that’d be great.”

The thought of two dozen Marines twisted up like pretzels while chanting had her gasping for breath to keep the laughter down. “Yeah,” she squeaked out. “I can do that.”

“A trainer with a sense of humor.” Coach Ace’s lips twitched in what might have passed for a smile in some circles. “Wonders never cease.”

“A coach with a brain,” she said in the same pondering tone. “Wonders, indeed.”

At that, he shocked her by barking out a laugh and slapping her on the back hard enough to send her forward a step before she could catch herself. “You’re a good one, Cook. Keep my boys healthy and we’re gonna get along just fine.”

“Likewise, Coach.” She grinned and took two steps back, only to jump forward out of the way of a pack of runners. She caught sight of Brad at the head of the herd and smiled to herself.

Stop that. He’s not on the menu. Nobody is. Work, work, work.

But since it was her job . . . She watched as he easily led the Marines with a fluid runner’s stride. He wasn’t burning a pace, but he also wasn’t even breaking a sweat as they grazed around the outer corners of the workout facility. And then, when Coach Cartwright pointed toward a set of stairs, they disappeared from view. She waited a moment, knowing the drill.

And was surprised to see a different guy leading the pack when they burst through the doors on the catwalk above to sprint around the perimeter. Brad brought up the rear, and for the first time, he looked . . . not winded. But the effortlessness of his movement was gone. It was clear now every step was purposeful, as every stilted stride set him back from the pack.