Her Lover, Her Coach

Dan nodded and took a sip. "And he called ME a potential distraction. How can you train under that situation?"

"It hasn't been easy. After this contest, I might drop him as my coach. This is just between you and me, of course."

"Of course. Are you sharing the same room?"

"Hell no! Not that he didn't want to." She paused, reached across the table and squeezed his forearm. "You know, before we got here, I thought about sharing a room with you."

"You never told me."

"Right, I didn't, and I think you can understand why. Marc would have gotten insanely jealous to the point where he might have tried to sabotage my effort here."

"I understand."

"I knew you would." She relaxed her shoulders and her expression changed from one of angst to one of almost wistful longing. "You're a sensitive, understanding guy, qualities that Ben lacked and Marc has too little of. That's one reason I feel drawn to you, and why when we finish these beers, I'm looking forward to you kissing me the way you did three weeks ago in Baltimore. Think you can manage that?"

"I think I can manage that very well."

Lexie had little doubt that Dan would make good on her request; and when they got back into the car, he proved it. The awkwardness of kissing on bucket seats over a center console didn't compromise her desire any. Still pained from Ben's suicide and stressed over Marc's ongoing pursuit, Dan's hugs and soft, warm kisses were just what she needed. Had circumstances not restrained her, she might have thrown off her warm-up suit to let Dan have his way with her. She could tell he was aroused—his heavy breathing and body language announced that loud and clear. Her pulse raced amid wild fantasies of sneaking into Dan's hotel room and doing stuff she couldn't do here. "Somehow I need to find the self-restraint to control myself between now and tomorrow," she said.

"You and me both," Dan said, feeling his erection press against his underwear, thinking how nice Lexie still smelled, even though she hadn't showered. Girls in Lexie's beauty league always seemed to smell good. "But don't worry, I'll give you all the space you need."

"I know you will, Dan." She smiled warmly and ran her fingers through his hair. "You do more than turn me on, you make me feel safe. You're someone I can trust, unlike so many other guys I've met since gaining national recognition in our sport."

Lexie planned to check in with Marc soon after she arrived back at the hotel. She figured he might be anxious over her being with Dan, but not so anxious that he'd be waiting in the lobby upon her return. Yet there he was, still wearing his black shorts and t-shirt, seated in one of the comfy chairs near the entrance, with his laptop open on a small round table. "Have fun?"

She knew his smile was phony, his tone decidedly sarcastic. She looked at Dan with concern, then turned to face him. "How long have you been waiting here?"

"Long enough." Addressing Dan, he said, "Look, I need to go over lifting strategy with Lexie, so I'd appreciate some privacy. If you don't mind."

When Lexie started to protest, Dan said, "No, that's okay, three can sometimes be a crowd. If I don't see you around, I'll see you tomorrow. Good luck." With that, he took the elevator up to his fourth floor room.

"You're my lifting coach, Marc, not my keeper," Lexie said, getting inches from his face.

Marc took a couple sniffs. "Maybe you need a keeper. You've been drinking, haven't you? Beer. Right?"

She glared at him. "Is this your idea of going over lifting strategy? Yes, I had a beer. One beer to be exact. A Yuengling to be more exact. What of it?"

Eyeball to eyeball, they stood their ground as if waiting for the other to blink. A few seconds passed. Then, softening his voice, Marc said, "You shouldn't be imbibing twenty-four hours before the biggest contest of your life is all I'm saying." He pointed to the laptop. "Now, are you ready to review what your starting attempts should be, or what?"

Lexie nodded, then took a seat in one of the three chairs around the table. For a while, Marc acted the way a coach normally does, all business. He agreed with what she selected as her starting attempts, though the numbers could change because they also rested on what her competition might select. But then, after closing his laptop, he said, "You know, I get the distinct impression that Dan Kramer is more than just a friend helping you cope with Ben's suicide. You dig him, don't you?"

Lexie shook her head and stood up. "Marc, not to be rude, but that's really none of your business. Your job is to coach me, not control me." She then headed for the elevator.

*****

Lexie ordered Chinese takeout, eating dinner alone in her room. She would have preferred Dan's company; however, given Marc's jealous streak, she wanted to avoid the added stress she figured it would cause. She didn't need that on the night before her competition. Their rooms were on the same floor, a few doors down the hall from one another. She tried to think good thoughts, imagined herself atop the medal podium, gold medal around her neck, waving to the crowd. This was more than mere idle dreaming; this was possible, highly possible, because she had a rough idea of the numbers her competition had put up, and hers were higher.

She let her hair down, changed into her mint-green nightgown and climbed into bed. She dealt with her usual pre-contest jitters as best she could. She read, watched some TV, surfed the net. She was hardly ready for sleep, wondered if she could sleep at all. Her weight class wasn't scheduled to lift until tomorrow afternoon. Right now, in her jittery state, that seemed like an eternity. She wondered what Dan was doing. Should she call him? She sure could use his soothing voice. Just as she picked up her cell, she heard a knock on the door.

"Yes?"

"It's me."

"Be right there, Marc." She climbed out of bed and unlocked the door to see her coach dressed in sandals, khaki shorts and Team USA t-shirt.

He looked her over, his eyes darting from her chest to her half exposed thighs. "Wow! "You're lookin' good, girl. Wear that on the platform and the judges will give you three white lights on every lift."

He reeked of alcohol. Hard stuff. "You've been drinking."

"Jack Daniels. Want some?"

"And you admonished me for my one Yuengling."

"You're the one lifting tomorrow."

She sighed. "Marc, what do you want?"

"I thought you could use some tender loving care to calm your nerves. Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"I don't think so." She blocked the entrance when he moved forward. "You need to get back to your room."

"How about a nice rubdown? It'll relax you. Of course, it might also lead to something else. The thing we did after Ben died." He winked.

He blocked the door with his foot when she tried to shut it.

"Marc, please!"

He stepped back. "Where's your boyfriend?"

"Dan's not my boyfriend...if that's who you mean."

"Yeah, the new Junior National Champion who couldn't carry my bags when I was in my prime. And I think you're lying, I think he is your boyfriend." He again moved forward, this time more aggressively, and pushed Lexie aside until he was just past the entrance. "Now, how about that rubdown?"

Lexie stepped back to the night table and placed her hand on the room phone. "You get the hell out of here now or I call security." She took note of his eyes, fierce and bloodshot.

Marc inched closer, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Is this any way to treat your lifting coach? I got you to where you are, you fucking ingrate. You owe me."

She lifted the receiver. "I'm warning you, one more step..."

Marc stopped in his tracks, staring her down from less than a yard away. "You know what? You're not fucking worth it. Good luck tomorrow, Lex, cause' you're gonna need it."

She called Dan's cell right away.

"Dan!"

"Lexie, what a pleasant surprise. I was just thinking of calling you when—ˮ

She started to cry. "Dan, I need to see you. Can you please come to my room? I'm in 308."

"Are you okay? You sound—ˮ

"No, I'm not okay. Please hurry."

She was in full crying mode when Dan entered her room. After shutting the door, she fell into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. It took a few minutes before she calmed down enough to explain what had transpired with Marc. Sitting next to Dan on the edge of the bed, she said, "He wants me to fail tomorrow, I know he does, the drunken, vindictive bastard." She shook her head and blew her nose. "What am I going do now, Dan?"

"You're going to do what you always do, get out there and win the gold. They don't call you golden girl for nothing."

Still sniffling, she said, "And how am I going to do that when my once committed coach has become my worst enemy?"

"You told me you were thinking of dropping him after tomorrow anyway, right?" She nodded. "Okay, so just make it a little earlier."

"Great, except I'll need someone behind me, to advise me on poundage selection, someone who can read the competition and map out strategy. For all his faults, Marc is very good at that."

"I'll do my best."

"What?"

"Look, I've never coached before, but I do know something about the strategy endemic to our sport. I'll be there for you tomorrow, submit my name to the officials as your coach. That is, if you want me to. I'm no Marc Boddiger when—ˮ

"Thank goodness for that!"

"I mean when it comes to coaching. Even you admitted the great progress you've made under his tutelage. Like I said, I'll do my best."

Briefly, they hugged and kissed before Dan got up to leave. "Get some sleep if you can," he said. "From my own experience, I know it won't be easy."

She remained seated on the bed, her legs crossed, her eyes still red from crying. "Well, it might be if I had someone to hold me tonight. Are you up for double duty? For all I know, Marc might return. And, like I told you earlier today, I thought of sharing a room with you even before leaving Baltimore." She smiled for the first time since Marc's intrusion.

Dan didn't have to think twice about her request. "Yes, of course I'll stay."

After she briefed him on her opening attempts, he stripped down to his underwear, then climbed in bed with her. Sitting up and snuggled together, they watched "Dateline NBC." Coincidentally—or maybe not—the episode was about a married dancing instructor who kills one of his students after she tries to break off their affair.

Afterward, Lexie cut the TV off. Keeping her nightgown on, she slipped off her panties. They kissed awhile before she took topside and began to hump her wet pussy against his rising cock.

"I've heard sex isn't a good idea the night before a competition," Dan quipped, slipping off his briefs.

"Oh, that only applies to you men," she said, waving him off in a manner which showed she got the joke. "Women who compete the next day can handle it very well." She giggled. "Now don't tell me you're not up for this because I can feel otherwise."

Dan felt he had dropped through a rabbit hole into some never to be realized fantasyland. He was now sharing bed, body and soul with Lexie Mandel, aka Golden Girl, someone he once worshiped from the safe, anonymous confines of You Tube. Seeing that incredible body of hers was one thing; feeling it was something else. Indeed, she epitomized the modern ideal of the female strength athlete—strong, shapely thighs, solid shoulders, firm tummy and high, round butt. Moreover, she still had boobs, unlike those extreme female bodybuilders juiced up on steroids.

Thinking aloud, he said, "I thought this only happens in the movies."

"It can happen in real life too when someone special enters your life, the way you entered mine back in Philly." She leaned in to kiss him. "I didn't know it then, not at first, but I sure as hell know it now."

He played with her thick silky hair between soft kisses. "Can a coach become intimate with their athlete and still be effective?"

He said it tongue-in-cheek, but she had a straight response. "If I recall, in the London Olympics, there was this black track star that was coached by his wife. So I'm sure you can be effective, although the effective I'm after right now has nothing to do with barbells."

"If only I had brought condoms."

"I've got that covered, Dan Kramer, you with the big pecs. You know, you're one of the few Olympic lifters I know that does bench presses." She started kissing his chest.

"It hasn't affected my shoulder flexibility any, contrary to lectures from well-meaning training partners to give them up for that reason." He paused. "Listen to me, talking gym talk while one of the hottest, strongest, college female sixty-nine kilo Olympic lifters in the world wants me to make love to her."

"Speaking of sixty-nine, that might be a good way to kick off tonight's activities. Are you with me?"

There wasn't a lot of talk after that, gym or otherwise. Their sixty-nine led to the kind of lovemaking that Lexie always craved—exciting but tender at the same time. The tender part had been missing with Ben; and that one time with Marc had left her with a sense of guilt. With Dan, it was pure bliss. Sure, he knew how to please, had a great sense of timing and rhythm, knew when and how to touch her in all the right places—tongue, fingers and cock working individually and collectively in a coordinated effort that she found remarkable. His "technique," however, paled in comparison to the affection that he obviously felt for her, affection she gladly returned in equal measure.

Resting her head on his chest afterward, she said, "It feels so good to be with you, I could stay in bed like this for days. And if I wasn't competing tomorrow, I would."

"Then I hope you won't mind if I ask you to go away with me so we'll have that kind of time. Florida, California, perhaps even Europe." He turned and planted several gentle kisses on her forehead.

"Mind? I should say not. This sport has given me the opportunity to travel, to see places I've never been. But the thought of doing it with you excites me even more. When do we leave?"

He chuckled. "I'm not sure, but speaking of leaving, I better scoot back to my room early in the morning. The last thing we want is for Marc to catch me here."

"Sounds like a plan," she said, staring off into the darkness. "But morning is hours away. Meanwhile, I was hoping we could fall asleep together."

They did and slept well. Too well. It was just past seven-thirty and they were still sleeping when a hard knock on the door roused Lexie from her slumber. "Oh, shit!" Keeping her voice down, she began to shake Dan. "Dan, wake up! Dan, you need to wake up!"

Another hard knock, followed by, "Lex, are you awake? Wake up Lex, it's me."

"Be right there," she yelled. Dan began to stir. "Dan, get in the bathroom, quick! Marc's at my door!"

Dan rubbed his eyes. "What?"

"Marc's outside my door, you need to hide!"

Dan scrambled into the bathroom and shut the door.

"Be right there," Lexie yelled, "as soon as I get some clothes on." She grabbed a pair of jeans and a top—no time for bra and panties—and slipped them on. When she cracked the door, she saw Marc standing there in what he normally wore when present at Lexie's contests, a blue warm-up suit and cross-trainers. His eyes were no longer bloodshot. The angry drunk she saw last night had morphed into a sober contrition.

"Look, sorry to wake you, but I couldn't wait any longer to tell you how sorry I am about last night. I crossed a line I never should have crossed, said some things I never should have said. Old Mr. Daniels seems to bring out the worst in me, I'm afraid. Not an excuse, just saying. Anyway, I hope I can make it up to you."

Wearily, Lexie swept her hand through her hair and shook her head. "Apology accepted. But I really need to get some more sleep. Okay?"

"Understood. Guess nerves kept you up, huh? I hope you found something good on TV to help relax you."

"Um, yes, I did."

"Good. Well, how about meeting me downstairs for breakfast, say about ten? We'll eat and go over a few things in preparation for this afternoon."

Desperate to get rid of him, she agreed.

Dan slipped on his clothes after Lexie called him out of the bathroom. Then he said, "Look, if you'd like to retain Marc as your coach for this contest, go ahead. No hard feelings."

"Not a chance. After last night, I never want to see him again, much less have him coach me."

Dan leaned against the room's chest of drawers, his expression drawn into worry. "Lexie, not to interfere, but maybe you should go along. You'll have your hands full competing. You don't need the added stress of dropping him as your coach in midstream."

"You're right, Dan, but the guy turned me off to the point where it doesn't matter. Remember, last night wasn't the first time he's pulled his Romeo routine. But it damn sure will be the last. Enough is enough, I've had it with him. As we planned, it's you I want in my corner today."

Dan nodded. "Okay, so where do we go from here? He expects you to meet him downstairs at ten."

"There's only one thing to do, and that's to tell him up front." She shook her head and began to pace the room. "Damn, I feel the same way I did when contemplating a breakup with Ben. Marc's not as violent, at least I don't think he is. Still, given his behavior last night, who knows what he'll do."

Dan sat on the bed, pondering Lexie's position. "Look, I've got an idea."

"I'm listening."

"Meet him downstairs like you told him. Hear what he has to say, not breathing a word about dropping him as your coach. We'll go to the Convention Center in separate cars, me alone, you with Marc. During the weigh-in, I'll submit my name to the officials as your coach. He'll be pissed to say the least, but with all those people around, I doubt he'll try anything stupid. Meanwhile, I'm going to get some breakfast myself. But don't worry, I'll be done way before you two get down there."

Per Dan's plan, Lexie met Marc at ten in the hotel's self-serving café featuring a cornucopia of breakfast goodies, everything from omelets and fruit to hot and cold cereal. Half-jokingly, Marc said, "Don't pig-out, now, or you'll weigh over the class limit." He discussed her opening attempts and filled her in on what he knew about her competition. The more he spoke, the more anxious she got. Dan was right; an eleventh hour change in coaches was prescription for a mean and ugly scene, one that could disrupt the whole contest.

She was about to reconsider when Marc stood from his seat and started to message her neck and shoulders. "This will keep you loose," he said. "It's a modified version of what I wanted to do last night."

Reaching from behind, she brushed his hands away. "Thanks, Marc, but I'm loose enough." This wasn't the first time that he had touched her under the guise of keeping "loose." Other than that time they had sex, she always stopped him when he tried to go further, when he did things that had zero to do with her athletic performance.

He persisted. "Oh, come on, a little message won't hurt."

She looked to see other diners taking notice. "Marc, enough."

He raised his hands. "I'm stone cold sober, I swear."

"Then you should know better." She shook her head, looking down at her half-finished meal.

"Okay, okay, if that's the way you want it," he said, backing away. "But I bet you wouldn't stop Dan from doing it."

"That did it," she said, then bolted out of her seat. "Marc, I don't know about a message, but from now on, Dan's my coach. He'll be submitting his name to the officials during the weigh-in. Got it?"

He blinked hard. "You're kidding, right?"

She folded her arms against her chest. "No."

"Dan Kramer doesn't know shit about coaching," he yelled.