Below the Belt(16)

He raised a brow. “No, I was waiting for you.”

“Oh. Right.” Dumbass. The server passed by and took her drink order of a glass of water and a bottle of Yuengling. At her order, he looked surprised.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just impressed.”

“Because I’m a lady who knows her beer?”

“I’m always impressed with anyone who knows decent beer. Most of the guys I know don’t even go for the good stuff.”

“Well, I could order a girly cocktail and pay nineteen dollars for a quarter of a shot of vodka and three ounces of cranberry juice, but I’m just not in the mood.”

He grinned, then turned his bottle so she could see the label on his own drink.

Yuengling.

The smile crept across her lips before she could stop it. “Nice taste.”

“I think so.” He watched her while he took a sip. The server brought by her drink and water then took their orders. He surprised her by ordering the salmon, grilled, fresh vegetables and a salad with oil and vinegar. Meanwhile, her steak, chicken tortilla soup and baked potato suddenly sounded like a gluttonous splurge.

“Training diet?” she asked.

He nodded. “I try not to go too crazy. I want a beer with dinner? Dinner’s gotta be decent. I’m not in the mood for alcohol or carbs? Maybe I go crazy and order dessert.” He shrugged. “Moderation.”

“Healthy,” she added. “Realistic. I see athletes sometimes who go insane with their diet, thinking they’re doing the right thing. And I can’t fault them for wanting to be healthy.” She debated a second, then grabbed one of the rolls from the untouched basket on the table. “But after a certain time, your body just needs a little something extra, you know?”

He was smiling at her a little, like he enjoyed her snatching a roll as if it were the last one instead of one of four. “Burnout’s a real thing. I’ve known guys who wanted to make it into training camp as badly as I did and pushed it too hard.”

“Is this the first year for you?”

“Yup. Life—and the Marine Corps—has a way of stepping in front of the best laid plans. Deployments, training missions or commanders who didn’t want to sign off on the waiver to let me come. This is my first real chance.”

He sounded so passionate, so determined. But not in a scary, slow-down-big-boy sort of way. “Why boxing?”

He smiled at the server who delivered his salad and her cup of soup, then glanced back to Marianne after picking up his fork. Their server hovered, as if waiting for Brad to notice her and suddenly swoop down and carry her to the back for a quickie. Brad didn’t cooperate, and, with a sigh, the server disappeared.

“Why not boxing?”

She waited a moment, then set her spoon down in mock-disgust. “You’ve really got to stop monopolizing the conversation. I mean, really, Brad. It’s just rude.”

His lips curved, but he ducked his head toward his salad to hide it.

“Boxing is just my sport. I’ve been boxing since I was a kid. I would have joined the Marine boxing team years ago, if I could. And it seemed like every year that was denied to me, the desire grew. But, in retrospect, I probably would have taken it for granted if I’d made it in at nineteen like some of these kids have. So it’s almost like the goal took on a life of its own in my head.”

“I can relate to that one.” She blew steam from her soup and tasted. “I’ve got my eye on a bigger goal, too. It’s been hovering over me for a while. I think the longer a dream stays in your head, the bigger it grows, until sometimes it takes on mythological proportions.”

He pulled an offended face. “Working with the few, the proud wasn’t your ultimate dream in life?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. The so-serious Brad, joking around. It was relieving to see his more human side. “Sorry to burst the ego bubble. It’s great and all, don’t get me wrong. And a step up from having to baby the high school basketball stars who were in my training room begging for Midol.”

He froze with the fork halfway to his mouth. A piece of tomato plopped back onto his plate. “Why in the world . . . Were they on a dare?”

“No. It’s mostly pain reliever, but it’s got caffeine, which can cut headaches faster than straight ibuprofen.” She shrugged. “Mostly I think they thought it was hilarious to ask. Some rite of passage. Look at me, I’m so tough I can ask for Midol and not care. I guess the trainer before me gave them out like candy. That had to stop fast.”

“No kidding.” He grimaced. “Do you like your job?”

“Not like; love.” She ignored her soup completely and leaned forward, careful not to plop a boob in the bowl. “It’s amazing what the right trainer can do for the right athlete. When they click, and they can work together on rehabilitation, or even prevention, or maintenance, it’s fantastic. Seeing the athlete’s performance skyrocket, and knowing you had a hand in that, is special. The human skeletal system is an amazing and complex thing.” She cut herself off. “Sorry. I was about to dive off the edge of total nerdiness.”

“No, I like it. I like seeing people enjoy what they do.”

“Yeah. It feels good to have found that niche that was meant for me.” She waited while the server collected their salad plate and soup bowl and replaced them with dinner plates.