Out of Bounds (The Summer Games #2) - R.S. Grey Page 0,2
am scheduled to arrive at 2:00 PM on the 29th. Unfortunately, the only flights still available are in the morning, so I will be arriving to your house earlier than expected, around 9:00 AM. I hope that’s not too much of a problem.
Looking forward to working with you,
I woke up ten minutes before my alarm was set to go off. 8:20 AM—early, and yet I felt like I was running late as I tossed the blanket aside and stood to stretch. My head pounded. The fourth beer at the bar the night before had been a mistake; the shots had been plain stupid. I could blame it all on the girl sleeping in my bed—the brunette beauty I’d met at the bar. She was wild, loud, and drunk, shoving drinks in front of me like she was hoping to take advantage of the situation. I’d let her; I’d gone to the bar to get drunk so I could escape the anxiety mounting inside. The girl sleeping on the opposite side of my bed had proved a good distraction—a loud distraction.
She’d been at the bar to celebrate her birthday. Or had it been her bachelorette party? I blinked and wiped away sleep from my eyes just before my gaze landed on the crinkled sash lying on the ground beside her dress. She’d worn it the entire night, and when I reached down to pick it up, I sighed. BIRTHDAY QUEEN.
I dropped the sash back onto her dress and cleared my throat, hoping she’d stir in her sleep. Nothing. The sheet barely covered her naked body, and while I could appreciate her supple curves and the fact that her breasts were nearly spilling out from the top of the sheet, I wasn’t looking for round two. I walked closer and patted her shoulder.
“Hey…” I realized I didn’t know her name. “Birthday Queen, wake up.”
Still nothing. If anything, she fell deeper into sleep. Christ. I turned and headed for the bathroom, purposely leaving the door open as I brushed my teeth and ran the faucet. I splashed water on my face and tried to will my headache away. You’re not hungover. You didn’t drink too much last night.
I made as much noise as possible as I got ready for the day, but by the time I’d finished, she still hadn’t moved.
I headed down to the kitchen for coffee, too tired and hungover to worry about her. The newspaper from the day before was still sitting on the island where I’d left it untouched. The paper had hand-delivered it, ensuring I saw my name and photo splashed across the front page. It was just a local Seattle paper—hardly the New York Times—but it was intimidating.
New Winter for Summer Games
Gymnastics giant steps down during health scare, son vaults into top job
I turned my back to it as I reached for my old coffee grinder. It chopped beans just fine, but it sounded like a spaceship with a blown muffler. I let it run for a few seconds longer than necessary, nearly blowing out my eardrums in the process, and then I listened for any sort of stirring from upstairs. Nada. I should have checked her pulse.
I didn’t usually need one-night stands to wake up and leave at the crack of dawn, but it was a big day. I needed her gone before the rest of the team showed up in a few hours.
Five teenage girls invading my space for the next month in preparation for the games in Rio.
It was an idea I hadn’t quite wrapped my head around. The position as the head coach of the U.S. women’s gymnastics team had been uncontested for the last thirty years. My father had held the job for a year longer than I’d been alive and now here I was, poised to take over for him whether he liked it or not.
My father’s medical leave had come as a shock to everyone in the gymnastics world. The team had already qualified for the games, competed in Worlds, and developed relationships with my father, but when his heart had put him in the hospital, the committee had been forced to scramble to replace him.
I wasn’t their first choice, but in the end I was the best choice. I had experience in both training as an Olympic athlete and coaching Olympic athletes. My gym in Seattle was the best place to train on the west coast and on top of that, I already had the