Beautiful Boy(66)

Since Konstantin had purchased this place, did that mean the former  coaches still worked here? Surely this couldn't be one of them.

My lips parted as he stalked toward us with power and poise radiating  off him. The beating of my heart nearly leaped into my throat as I  stared like he was some sort of Adonis. He was so incredibly hot with  unshaven dark stubble that dusted his squared jaw combined with full  lips, the greenest eyes I've ever seen, and hair so dark it was nearly  black. I was pretty sure I'd heard the angels sing their praise upon him  when he entered the room. Sweet baby Jesus, the man was perfection, and  I couldn't wait to tell my best friend, Avery.

Crossing the room, he extended an arm out. "Frank, it is good to see you  again, old man." The muscles in his forearm flexed, the veins  signifying the strength he wielded. It was incredibly difficult for me  to tear my eyes away as he gave my father a firm handshake. He was,  absolutely, drop dead gorgeous. Avery would call him fucking hot. She  loved to add fucking to the beginning of everything.

"Kova."

This guy was my dad's friend? And he owned this place? No fucking way.  He looked like he was fresh out of college, no more than twenty-five  years old – max. Dad didn't have very many young friends I was aware  of...I could count on one hand the friends I had met who were younger  than him. Typically, they had greying hair, crow's feet, and overworked,  quickly aging skin. The complete opposite of what was right in front of  me.         

     



 

Wait. Why did he call him Kova?

So Kova was Konstantin? Where that nickname came from was beyond me. But  the more talking they did, and the camaraderie I witnessed before me,  the more I realized this was the man who my dad indeed talked about.

So many things ran through my head at the moment. This couldn't be  right. Vaguely, I remembered hearing the name years ago in the  gymnastics circle. It wasn't much other than he was one of the most  decorated gymnasts to date, bringing home more medals to Russia than any  other male athlete ever had. He'd competed in two Olympics and  dominated in each one of them. Rumor had it he was supposed to try for a  third Olympics but pulled out at the last minute due to unforeseen  reasons no one knew about. Many rumors circulated, some even saying  steroid use was the reason he didn't compete.

"Welcome to World Cup Academy of Gymnastics."

That accent was most definitely Russian. And the more I stared, the more  I realized it truly was him. I was completely dumbfounded and felt like  a fool for not putting two and two together.

For a gymnast, Kova was tall. Probably around six feet, give or take a  few inches. Pair that with his heavily muscled shoulders and firm chest,  evidenced by how tight his shirt was stretched. He looked like the  perfect package, if there ever was one.

My cheeks flamed, heat rushing to the top. And now I was checking out his package! Oh, my God. What the hell was wrong with me?

"You remember my wife, Joy, and our daughter, Adrianna. Or Ana as we call her."

I internally rolled my eyes. My name was Adrianna, not Ana. I've always  hated that nickname. It made me feel like a child being reprimanded, yet  they constantly called me that knowing how much I detested it. Grin and  bear it, I told myself. Grin...and bear it.

As Konstantin shook my mother's hand, I chuckled on the inside. Her hand  was enveloped in his and I would bet she was worried that he'd crush  it. It was a damn handshake for Christ's sake yet she acted like she was  so fragile. There was nothing more annoying than when my mom acted like  she was made of porcelain. I guarantee her dainty, cold fingers were  resting in his hand like they were dead, which only seemed to match her  icy demeanor. I only knew this because I've seen her do it a million  times.

"Hello again, Kova. You have a nice … facility," she tried to say with  sophistication. Only I could see right through her bleached teeth at her  pretentious personality. An air of money surrounded her and she wore it  like a second skin. My mother and I couldn't be more opposite.

Konstantin turned my way and I nearly lost all common sense. His emerald  eyes were encircled by a thick black ring with faint web-like lines  reaching his irises. Mesmerizing. They reminded me of a  rainforest-beautifully alluring, uncharted territory with no true  knowledge of what lurked around. Framed between thick lashes, his gaze  was penetrating, like he could read my deepest, darkest secrets.

"Ana, it is a pleasure to see you again. Last time I saw you, you barely  reached my knees and were running around with pigtails. You've grown so  much," he said.

Pigtails? I think I stopped with the pigtails around five. If that was the case, he was clearly over twenty-five.

"Adrianna." I emphasized my name. The ends of his lips curved upward  just a hint and my stomach tightened. I tucked a lock of hair behind my  ear demurely and returned the smile.

"Are you sure you are ready for this? I can assure you that this is  going to be nothing like your old gym, which I have already explained to  your father. You are going to be exhausted, and probably bruised and  sore until your body adjusts to the training. Just because your dad and I  go way back, do not think for one minute I will be easy. I hope you are  ready for that kind of conditioning."

Ever get the urge to repeat a thick accent after just hearing it? Like  you wanted to throw your hands in the air and speak extra loud like an  Italian? I wanted to repeat every word Konstantin had just said. The way  he spoke was so sexy, and that whole intense demeanor thing he had  going on worked in his favor.

"I am," I responded timidly.

Glancing back at my parents, he said, "How about we head into my office  and go over some paperwork before taking a tour of the gym. Yeah?"

The next thirty minutes were spent going over all the fine print and  signing medical release forms. My mother appeared as if she'd been  suffering from constipation no matter how hard she tried to look  composed. Gymnastics, along with legal documents, were so out of her  element. Pretending to be a concerned mother was not in her comfort  zone. Charity fundraisers were more her thing where she could dress up,  plaster on a phony smile, and act like she gave a shit about something.  It was hard to blame her as my own thoughts drifted around the room,  taking in the various medals and trophies, quickly losing interest in  the topic myself.         

     



 

I didn't care about all this paperwork, all I wanted to do was get on  the floor and feel the carpet beneath my feet. Floor was my absolute  favorite event. It was where I felt free and could let go, flying  through the air at my heart's desire. I loved tumbling, loved defying  gravity, and secretly prayed to God that I wouldn't land on my ass each  time.

I despised beam with pure hatred. But that was another story entirely.

I looked over at my dad as he was deep in conversation with Konstantin.  He was actually interested in knowing more about my training, but then  again he liked reading the small print and knowing exactly what he was  paying for. It was why he'd done so well with his own company. No one  could nickel and dime him. He loved money and made sure he knew where  every penny he made was going. And it didn't matter that this was a  friend he should probably be able to trust, he was still going to check  and cover his ass.

In the midst of explaining the forms and going over my strict training  regimen, I heard 'dance class' and my attention snapped back to the  conversation.

"Dance class?" I butted in.

Konstantin lifted a perfectly arched brow, his eyes narrowing as if just  noticing me. "I was mentioning to Frank that you will be taking ballet  class, along with jazz."

My mouth gaped open. "Ballet?" I asked, annoyed. Please tell me that was  a joke. There was no way I was taking that. I hated ballet!

"Yes, Adrianna. Ballet. It helps with posture and grace on the floor. Not to mention, flexibility and core strengthening."

"I have grace and fluidity on the floor already. I don't need these  extra dance classes." I've never had to take them back home, why would  classes like that matter here? All these extra classes were going to do  was take away from the one thing I came here to do, and I refused to let  that happen. Surely I wouldn't have to take that stupid class.

Konstantin placed his expensive looking, shiny pen down slowly. It was  unnerving the way he stared at me and I wanted to look away. However, I  refused to look weak so I kept my eyes trained on him, focusing on the  black flecks glittering in his eyes.

"I am going to keep it easy and simple for you. You play by my rules  here. You either take the classes or you will not train at World Cup."

Easy and simple? As if I was some moron who didn't comprehend complex  words? My parents hadn't spent thousands of dollars a year on a private  tutor for nothing.

Slapping on a fake smile, I said with a sugary voice, "Ballet really  isn't necessary. It would be a complete waste of time. I've never needed  it before and I sure don't need it now." I finished with a few rapid  blinks, a tight lipped smile, and waited for his response. This was what  I liked to call my social event face my mom taught me. Sweet, innocent,  and full of shit. A typical Palm Beach fashion.