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I try to time my jumps to get there right before West. I miss a couple of times, but on the third, I slam as hard as I can a half second sooner than he lands, and he soars into the air like a rocket. He throws his head back, a laugh escaping his throat at the very top. It’s so loud and carefree that it takes me by surprise.
I hadn’t heard West Brooks laugh yet.
He lands and immediately falls to his knees. “That was evil.”
“I thought you wanted to be a kid again,” I tease. “Have you ever tried a forward flip?”
“When I was five.”
“Let’s do it.”
He shakes his head. “You need to train.”
I stop jumping and cross my arms over my chest. “I’ll train once you land a front flip.”
“Another bargain?” he asks, lifting his brow.
I hold my hand out. He eyes it, and my heart thrums in my chest, waiting for him to shake on it. When he finally does, I have to bite my lip at the instant connection I feel with him, my whole hand practically getting lost in his palm. “You have to teach me, though,” he says, squeezing.
I almost lose my breath. My tongue feels as if it gets stuck on the roof of my mouth. “I can do that. I think you’ll be a quick study.”
“Yeah?”
“I mean, you’re West Brooks. You can do anything.”
His gaze zeroes in on me, and I’d give anything to hear his inner thoughts. He stares at me for a beat too long, and when he lets go, he stays in contact with my fingers until the very last moment.
I have to look away to get my bearings.
Sydney’s right, I’ve got it bad. West Brooks isn’t just growing on me, he feels like an inevitability.
My stomach squeezes.
Stepping into the middle of the trampoline, he awaits instruction. I run through the important parts while starting to bounce. “Jump until you have enough height. Wait until you’re at the apex of the jump and then tuck, throwing yourself forward. The trick is to open up at the right time. Too late, and you’ll face-plant. Too early, and you’ll end up on your back.” Then I demonstrate it for him.
He shakes his head when I finish. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”
“You’ve already committed,” I tell him. “No take backs.”
“Thankfully Coach isn’t here.” He starts with tiny jumps, getting higher and higher each time. His expression turns serious next, his lips thinning as he throws himself forward just at the apex, like I said.
The first one, he lands on his butt.
The second, he overcorrects and goes right to his hands and knees.
I giggle, and he glares at me. “Keep laughing. This is the one.”
“I already know it,” I tell him. He is a specimen, for sure. He has such a different physique than divers. I’m not used to seeing someone with so many muscles flip through the air. I have to step out to the side, so I don’t start bouncing with him and get in his way.
Just like he said, the third time, he nails it. He lands on his feet and then goes right into another jump before slowing down.
I give him a slow clap. “Excellent job, Mr. Brooks. A+. Do you want your medal now or later?”
“Oh, we’re handing out medals now?”
He walks toward me, the excitement from his jump turning into something else. He steps next to me, and the trampoline depresses so that he has to catch me before I fall into him.
“Maybe,” I say.