Mr. Fiancé(93)

"Nothing I know of. Check the computer before you get to work," Coach says. “I might have something for you, but I’ll let you know a bit later. I don’t want to jump the gun. How are your own workouts coming along?"

"I'm putting in my time—you know that." It's actually one of the areas that I struggle with the most. I got interested in training during my senior year of high school, when a shoulder injury in softball cut my playing days short. Not that I was good enough for a school like WU anyway, but the rehab was really interesting. Being a long-time athlete, my natural frame combined with my athlete's eating habits meant that my so-called 'freshman fifteen pounds' was more like the 'freshman fifteen kilos,' and I still don't feel good wearing overly tight or sexy clothes, even if I've gotten some of the bad weight off. At five eight and one seventy, I'm still nobody's fashion model, unless you are using Ashley Graham as your template. And if I ever get compared to her, I'm in good company.

"You know, Carrie," Coach says, bringing me out of my reverie, "I keep telling you, drop the worries about your waist, get some protein cycling going, and hit the workouts hard, and it’ll come in time. You’ll have to pick up the bat again if only to keep these athletes away.”

I smile and brush my blonde hair behind my ear. I’m proud of myself as-is, and I have gotten attention from cute guys. I like to think I’m a good size for my frame. "I know, Coach. I’m sure you're right, but sometimes, matching up what I know from class and what I end up doing in my own life . . . it’s not easy.”

He nods, then chuckles. "Sounds like me. You should have seen the rehab I put myself through after my last torn quad. There's no way I'd tell one of the kids who come in here to do that. I'd lose my job. Still, if you need guidance, my door's open."

"Thanks, but first, I'll take care of the basketball team. You know how they are with their ankles and knees."

“Good. If I need you, I'll give you a holler."

The training room is actually right next to the weight room, which is in the basement of the main athletic building at Western University. The Madison Pavilion houses the coaches' offices, the main indoor arena where basketball and volleyball games are played, and in the basement are the weight room, the training room, and the wrestling practice room. Next door is the smaller secondary arena where volleyball, girl's basketball, and other smaller sports do their practices, plus the regular student weight room.

Of course, across the street from Madison Pavilion is Allen Field, where the football team plays, which dominates the skyline of WU and makes the Pavilion look small. It's not that surprising. I guess it takes a lot of space to make seating for eighty thousand people.

There is no way I could see it where I am right now anyway, being underground in the basement. I get to the tape room, where I see Alicia Torres, one of the basketball girls, already waiting. "Hey, Carrie. How's it going?"

"Good, Alicia. Aren't you a bit early?"

Alicia is a point guard for the basketball team, and despite her diminutive size—she's only five six and a hundred fifteen—she's fierce and has no fear, but because of that, she has a lot of bumps and sprains on a pretty regular basis. One of her weakest areas is her left ankle, and I take out the pre-wrap and tape to start getting her ready. "Well, you know how it is. Now that we're almost in summer semester, I've got more free time on my hands. Derek and I . . . well, let's just say we're traveling different paths."

"Oh, that's too bad," I reply. Derek is . . . I guess was . . . Alicia's boyfriend, a senior who's graduating in a few weeks. "What happened?"

"He took the offer for the job in Berlin, and he felt that the distance was just too far. It's not too bad, though. I mean, he and I weren't too serious. But that means I've got some extra minutes in my schedule, and I figured I'd get down here, get taped, and get some extra warmups in."

I take off Alicia's sock and prop her foot against my thigh, aligning the joint just the way I want it. "And your ankle's doing okay?"

"Yeah. In fact, you do a better job with it than anyone except Coach T. Don't let the other folks hear that, though. You know how bitches be hatin'."

I laugh. Alicia always has a way of phrasing things that seems to put a smile on my face. "Thanks. I hope you just keep doing your warmups and rehab that I gave you, and you won't need the tape at all."

"Nope. Them other bitches will need it, though, when I break their ankles with my crossover," Alicia continues, laughing. "This year, I'm planning—”

I look up as her words fade out, and she's smirking, shaking her head as she looks through the window that allows people in the training room to see the weight room and vice versa, a holdover from when this was a coaches’ office before some renovations about five years ago. "What?"