Letters to Nowhere(76)

I smiled down at my feet. “And the Stevie part?”

“Didn’t she give up her college eligibility years ago?”

This was true. She had taken endorsement money before she even reached high school because of training costs, and I think she thought she’d be done by eighteen. I had no idea if she regretted it or not, but I knew my parents would never have let me ruin my college chances so early on. But then again, we could afford to make that decision. Not everyone was that lucky.

“Yeah, she did.”

“I don’t know,” Jordan said as he pulled into a parking lot near the forest preserve. “But you want to make the Pan Am team, compete at Nationals, maybe Worlds, right? And you need elite level skills to do this, correct?”

“Yes, but I know it’s all up in the air. I’m only in control of so much. Like your dad not letting me add the extra difficulty and being a total hard–ass about every minor detail.” I groaned to myself, remembering the extra tumbling passes he had made me do today after not stretching my back handsprings enough and not having my legs tight enough on my triple full.

Jordan got out of the car and I followed him as he opened the trunk. I started laughing when he pulled out a blanket.

“Smooth. You keep that in your trunk just in case?”

He grinned at me. “I thought it might come in handy.”

We found the ultimate secluded spot and stretched out on the blue fleece blanket. “I love spring. It smells so good.”

“Me, too.” Jordan sat up and pulled my feet onto his lap, slipped off my shoes, and started rubbing my right foot. “Sometimes when I’m watching you guys practice in the evenings, it looks so painful I want to rub all your sore muscles right after.”

I laughed, feeling myself blushing.

“That sounded really dirty, didn’t it? I totally didn’t mean for it to sound dirty. I’m actually pretty accomplished in the art of massage.”

“Oh, I bet,” I said, still laughing. But the foot rub actually felt really good, so maybe he did have another skill I hadn’t discovered.

“I’m being serious. I took a sports medicine class last semester and we learned how to use massage to reduce soreness.”

I closed my eyes and breathed in deep, enjoying the many different and very good feelings I had from Jordan’s hands on my feet and the spring air. “Just be careful. Don’t hurt your elbow.”

“I won’t. Okay, so my dad, your routine issues…I think I’ve got a plan.”

“Does it involve illegal activity?” I was enjoying myself too much to be serious.

“Not Plan A.” He pushed my feet aside and stretched out beside me. I leaned in closer to kiss him and had to remove his hat first. His eyes fluttered shut and then he pulled away. “Stop distracting me. I’m trying to be helpful.”

I laughed and rested my head on his chest. “Plan A?”

“Yes, Plan A…” He wrapped his arms around me and ran a hand through my hair. “As much as I hate to admit it, my dad usually knows what he’s doing when it comes to coaching, so I think you should give him a week or two and then demand to know what skills you’ll be doing in Chicago, and if they aren’t the ones you want, then demand that he explain all his reasons. I think if you give him room to do his thing now, he’ll respect you enough to tell you the truth, eventually.”

I let out a huge dramatic sigh. “Letting him do his thing is killing me right now. I’m all about striving for perfection, but he’s taken it to a whole new level. Even my bones are sore. I’ve moved beyond the muscles.”

“I told you I can help with that,” Jordan taunted.

Anytime his voice was near my ear, I’d get goose bumps all over and my pulse would start racing. “I’ll give you one shot to impress me.” I sat up and pulled my sweatshirt over my head, tossing it to the side.

Jordan put his hands behind his head, crossed his feet and gave me a lazy smile. “Keep going, don’t stop with the sweatshirt.”

I pressed a hand to his chest. “In your dreams, Jordan Bentley.”

“That would be great, too.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me back down beside him, my cheek on his chest again. His fingers slipped under my tank top and he started massaging my back. And it did feel really good, but it was kind of like the singing and guitar playing. I might just love it because it was Jordan and not because he was actually superior to anyone as far as skills go.

“Will you be insulted if I fall asleep?” I asked after a few minutes. My eyes had already closed.

“As a boyfriend, I’ll be insulted, but as a masseur, I’ll be proud of myself.”

My heart sped up again. Neither of us had dropped the boyfriend/girlfriend terms into a conversation.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see which one you’re better at.”

He laughed into my ear, and then quickly turned me over onto my back. “I know which one I’m going to make sure I’m better at.” And then he was kissing me, slow and perfect, his hand moving over my butt and down my jeans and eventually he pulled my leg around him.

I’d learned in the last few weeks that Jordan’s hands were totally ADD; they never stayed in one place for too long and they never stopped moving, even if at a very slow pace. And it wasn’t in a typical handsy–boy fashion. More like he’d touch my cheek and then decide my earlobes seemed interesting and then the back of my neck and then the skin behind my knees if I had shorts on. Sometimes I was so caught up in the feel of it that I wouldn’t even realize I’d hardly moved myself.