“I think you keep confusing me with people who come from countries like yours. Cuba had very little by way of technology. And few have the means with which to purchase something like this, even if they were available.”
She’d been biting her lip while he talked, as if she had to retrain her brain as far as he was concerned.
Mateo was amused. “Sorry. You have your work cut out for you, don’t you? In my development.”
She was awash with shame but he heard Casey chuckle.
“No. I’m sorry I keep expecting you to know things we take for granted here.”
Patiently, she showed him the thin rectangular device, moved her thumb around, telling him how to get the music to play and how to shuffle the songs if he didn’t like what was on. He attempted to duplicate her movements, and after putting the earbuds in, he almost jumped at the raucous music that came streaming through the wires.
She lowered the volume with a flick of her fingers, her eyes taking him in. “I tend to like it loud.”
“It allows you to block out all thought?”
“I guess it does. I love being caught up in the beat, the lyrics, the instruments, and when I’m exercising it’s easier to move to a rhythmic tune. There’s no room for anything else.”
“I will take good care of it.”
Offhandedly, she said, “You can keep it.”
He hadn’t expected the offer or what she said next. “I’ll show you how to add to the playlist later.”
“When we get home?”
His eyes met hers, the smolder nothing short of a fiery backdraft. The air had been sucked out of his lungs as well, or worse, singed with heat. He was beginning to think it had scorched her vocal cords because she remained mute, her nod the only sign she’d heard him.
After clearing his throat, he asked, “How long are we here?”
“An hour.”
She tripped over her answer and then glanced at her Apple watch and amended, “Forty-five minutes. Where do you want to start?”
“The bike. It’ll loosen me up.”
“Okay. I’ll be over there at the bar.”
He looked over to see a mirror, a power rack with barbell, the individual weights she could add hanging on the side.
The bike would put him at a distinct disadvantage. He wouldn’t be able to watch her from there and he wanted to. Casey came up and asked, “Spin or regular?”
“What?”
“We have a couple of different types of bikes. One has a weighted fly wheel and focuses on strength, endurance, and high intensity. I go for low intensity being the wimp I am.”
She walked him toward a line of stationary cycles, which took up a good thirty feet of space.
“I might as well go for broke.”
“As you wish.”
After she helped him adjust the seat to his height on the more complicated one, and they decided what level of tension he wanted, Casey explained how it worked and his options for landscapes before climbing on the bike next to his. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
She put her feet in the stirrups, programmed her trail, and began to pedal, her movements measured. After putting his earbuds in and turning the music on, he began to race. It felt good. The blood was flowing, and his heart was pumping. He was finally getting his groove back by participating in the practices over the last couple of days. When he’d been in Brazil, the dos Santos’s had driven him back and forth to a gym and some batting cages near where they lived, but it was nothing like being on the field, actually playing the game. He’d never gone so long without the physical productivity he was used to. While working for the state in Cuba, he’d never been given the time to get rusty. The team was their national pride and they were trained hard, pumped up by zealous patriotism. It was the team that was showcased on the field, the grounds reflecting nothing of their purported grandeur. They were run-down and decrepit, whereas
Harborside was brand new and he couldn’t wait to make his debut there. Coming here had been a gamble, but it was paying off. He liked the city, liked the people, liked the freedom to come and go as he pleased. He liked having money to spend and all it offered. He was making friends and he had hopes for the future.
His legs spun faster as he lost himself to the music coming from the device Alicia had given him. She’d said this was her workout compilation and it set a good tempo. In her own way, she was taking care of him although he knew it was nothing more than she’d do for another one of the Greenies’ hot prospects. He glanced over to the other side of the room to see her with the bar, resting on the back of her neck, as she did squats. She had great form, and from what he could tell she could handle a fair amount of weight. He could have watched her all day, but he was unable to sustain the posture, his neck beginning to pinch. Reluctantly, he turned back to face the wall. As he did, Casey caught his eye.
She was mouthing something, so he pulled the buds out of his ears and asked her to repeat it.
“She has great form, doesn’t she? She’s a hell of an athlete. She used to play softball in college, but you can give her any kind of ball and she’ll know what to do with it.”
Casey had obviously caught him watching her. To throw some shade, he asked, “How about you?”
She laughed outright. “You’d think I’d inherited some of my father’s athleticism, but alas, I only got his looks. I got the proverbial you throw like a girl every time I attempted it. It insulted our friend over there more than it did me. Of course, she was the girl who could prove them wrong every time.”
That was the third time she’d exaggerated the
