The key still fits. Not that I had any real doubt it would. Marty always told me it was okay to work here after hours. I poke my head inside the door to The Rock and examined the room. The place still smelled of sweat and chalk.
I was no gymnast, not by a long shot, but Marty was usually around to watch out for me on the equipment. And I had made it to level five before I officially quit. He liked to use the word quit for what I did, I stick with moved on; I moved onto ballet. And then it was tap. And then ballet. And on and on and on in a monotonous battle.
I set my bag down next to the beam and unzipped my jacket. I couldn't find any of my old leos when I moved back in that day so I stuck to a sports bra and shorts. Stretching was the first and worst part. I had gotten very, very lazy in a short period of time.
My ballet shoes were lying at the top of my bag when I started to rifle through it looking for my phone. I shoved them under a spare tank top and kept going.
Music filled my ears quickly and my body ached to do something. I did a backbend walkover, feeling my muscles trying to adjust to the movements. After a few heel extensions and spins I tried to think of a combination that wouldn't push my limits too much. I moved the mats in place.
Keep it simple, I begged myself. I didn't always know how to not overdo it. I didn't know how to be okay anything I did. I landed a round off back handspring, back tuck on my butt. I jumped up, ready to do it again, but nearly had a heart attack instead as I saw someone in my peripheral vision.
I ripped the ear buds from my ears and opened my mouth.
"Don't," the man said. His arms were crossed and the expression on his face was one I had seen many times before. "Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my gym?"
I started to open my mouth again, but felt my body stop out of fear. What was I afraid of?
"Your gym? This is Marty's gym."
The blonde, and apparently British man, leaned his head back and gave me a new look. This one was comparable to a bully sizing up small kids on a playground, picking which is the weakest link.
"It's my gym. I am Sasha Belov, and if I'm not mistaken, you still haven't told me who you are."
I wiped a small bead of sweat off the back of my neck. I straightened my back and folded my arms in an attempt to stay strong.
"I'm Emily Bunting, Olivia's sister. I used to go to this gym and after I left Marty let me come here after hours every now and then."
Seconds ticked by. I wasn't sure what to do. Hell, I wasn't sure I was even breathing at that point.
"I'm just going to go then," I said looking at the floor and shuffling towards the beam again.
"No, no, no. If you want to stay and work out then stay," his reply caught me off guard. There was something to his voice that screamed arrogance and sarcasm, and I had no idea how to react.
"I'm pretty good actually. I'll just head back home," I picked up my jacket and bag.
Sasha turned his whole body towards where I stood, waiting to escape.
"I said, stay. If a work out is what you want then a work out is what you're about to get. Sprints, now."
I smiled awkwardly, surely he was kidding.
"Do I look amused?" he questioned, surely to my smirk and leaned against the bars. "I've got all night. Now, am I going to have to say it again?"
I shook my head quickly. "No sir." No sir? Where the hell did that come from?
I was into my sixth set of sprints when I realized I didn't understand what was going on. I had no obligation to this man and yet somehow he scared the living shit out of me. Each time I doubled back his eyes caught mine and I thought he was going to murder me.
"Stop," he called after my tenth set.
My heart was pounding in my ears. Maybe they were right for kicking me out, I thought, I was entirely too exhausted.
"Chin ups on the bars, now."
I walked without question. Punishment for breaking in (with a key), that's what this, was. I pulled my weight a few times before Sasha moved to stand in front of me.
"Where were you?" he asked flatly.
I grunted in an effort not to answer but he just stood with his hands in his leather jacket staring at me.
"Arizona Performing Arts Academy." He could use his scary, attractive British man ways to get me to talk, but no more than necessary.
"For what exactly?"
Something about his condescending tone made me bite my lip to hold back any comebacks I had.
"Dance."
Sasha strutted to the far wall and I took a moment to slow down. Without looking back he called my name along with something about doing double if I was slowing down. I struggled to pick my pace back up. My blood was pumping in my veins for more than one reason. He was so hot—actor hot.
He rolled an exercise ball to the floor and motioned for me to join him. I don't know if you've ever had to do intense exercise a few hours after you've gotten off of a plane, but trust me, that ball looked like the devil to me.
I began my sit-ups as he shot out loads of questions, ending with the most important; why was I back.
"Truth?" I asked, sitting up, hands on my knees.
Sasha turned his head to the side. "Did I say stop?"
I groaned as I lay back. "I was kicked out. I was on scholarship and I slacked off. I lost the passion. I lost the love. I didn't know why I was doing it so I just stopped."
He checked his watch and gazed intently at me for about twenty more sit ups before stopping me.
"Go home."
And that was that. It was clear from his tone to his body language that questions were the last thing he wanted. My stomach muscles ached with every step I took. I wiped sweat from my forehead as I stared at his icy stare for a few more seconds.
I rolled in the driveway at nearly one am to find the house sound asleep. I'm sure my parents assumed I had come in already if they'd even noticed I left. I let the hot water hit my back as I ached from the workout. I only had one question: why?
