Read Online Return to Sender by Julie Cross - Free Book Online Page B

you want to do, Karen. It won’t scare me off. I’m up for anything as long as it’s with you.”
    When I lean in to kiss her, my eyes closing, she succeeds in escaping my hold and putting several feet of distance between us. “I should go before Nina catches us and accuses us of endorsing teen pregnancy again.”
    I want to make a joke about her proving that she’d been thinking dirty thoughts, but I’m afraid to push the issue when she’s clearly uncomfortable discussing it.
    I jog to catch up and walk beside her, not taking her hand this time. “Let’s go in the gym and see if she’s got a practice schedule for you guys yet.”
    “Okay, sure.” She still can’t look at me.
    I’ll have to find a less intrusive way to really talk to her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
KAREN
    Jordan,
    Okay, so it’s not exactly your fault that my head seems to be going to new places lately. Ever since two days ago when I had my first non-nightmare dream (a huge relief), except it involved you. And me. Minus our clothes.
    I’ve never even seen you naked, so I have no idea how my subconscious conjured the image, though now that I think about it, the specific details are hazy. Like I knew you were naked but I didn’t actually process an image. Or else I can’t remember it. Or I’m traumatized by it.
    No, definitely not traumatized. What happened between us in my dream felt very good—the touching, the nakedness—and it caused my hormones to shift dramatically. Not that I’m brave enough to want that to happen in real life. Yet. I can’t even talk about it, let alone actually go through with it. Sorry if I act pissed off at you, I’m not, just confused. But if I explain that, then we have to talk about it and as I already said, that’s another roadblock for me at the moment.
    Love, Karen
    ***
    “Stronger!” Nina shouts. “Chin up! Shoulders down!”
    Adrenaline kicks up a notch and I fly into my full twisting straddle jump before prepping for my last tumbling pass—a pike double back somersault. I nail the landing, then finish with a full turn into my final pass.
    My chest is heaving from the effort of two full floor routines in a row, but I turn to Nina ready for her to yell at me to go again.
    “Where is the artistry?” she says, her eyes narrowed, arms folded over her chest. “Straight legs, pointed feet, perfect landings, good amplitude. But no artistry. I feel nothing.”
    Um… way harsh.
    I open my mouth to ask her to please explain because this isn’t the first time she’s given me that feedback with no way to fix the problem, but we’re interrupted by the gym door flying open and a shirtless muscular Hispanic guy strutting in.
    TJ.
    “Excuse me, young man,” Nina says, stalking toward the door. “We have a training session in here for two more hours.”
    TJ plasters on a smirk and he and Nina exchange words, in an intense whisper match.
    Stevie walks up beside me. “What’s going on? Is he trying to spy on our workouts?”
    I shrug, having no idea, but I do know he seemed ticked off yesterday that we were taking up gym three every morning.
    Nina turns her back on TJ, shaking her head. He’s still smirking as he walks all the way inside the gym and onto the rod floor, which is a long narrow strip of gymnastics floor, but instead of being made with springs, this one is built on top of metal rods and has a bit more bounce than a traditional gymnastics competition floor. Power tumblers apparently get all the good equipment. And this one is especially awesome because it leads into a giant foam pit.
    “You two!” Nina barks at me and Stevie. “Work on tumbling into the pit. Five clean landings for each run.”
    Stevie and I both shuffle over to the rod floor. We take a few minutes to pile several eight-inch-thick mats on top of foam blocks until we can see them from the end of the tumble strip. Unlike the tumble track, this strip is identical to the regular competition floor, but narrow and long instead of