Training in Love Read Online Free Page A

has a white coat, like I want. He
answers immediately and we make a plan to see each other tomorrow afternoon at
three at the bike track near the lake.
    ***
    I get to
the lake five minutes early. Today the sky is gray, but there’s a little sun. Tuesday
and Thursday afternoon I’m free because Elenina goes back to school after
lunch, while Saturday and Sunday I don’t work at all, not even in the morning
because the girls on the weekend shift are working at the cafè.
    I
park the car on the side of the road near the beginning of the bike track, like
everyone else who comes here because there isn’t a real parking lot. Now
though, perhaps because it’s an afternoon in the middle of the week, there are
only two cars other than mine. In order to pretend to take this thing seriously
and not make it look like this is the first and last time we’ll see each other,
I’ve put on a track suit and gym shoes and tied my hair in a ponytail.  I’ve dressed
warmly underneath so I don’t have to wear a jacket over the track suit, also
because I don’t have a sports jacket. The truth is that I’ve always done so
little in the way of sports that I don’t have any really suitable clothing. I
sigh deeply and turn off the car. I rest both my hands and my forehead on the
steering wheel and grip it, taking deep breaths for a few seconds, then I make
the effort and get out of the car. When Nic’s friend gets here, he’ll see me
and understand.
    I
walk towards the beginning of the bike path and see - a few meters in front of
me on the other side of the track - a door of one of the two parked cars open.
A very tall and very blond boy gets out. The closer I get and the closer he
comes, looking at me, the more I begin to pray desperately that it’s not him… Please
God, if you exist, don’t let it be him, don’t let it be him …
    But
I already know that it’s him, in fact when I find myself in front of him, at
twenty centimeters, he raises his arm, extends his hand and says, “Olivia?”
    And
I divert my eyes from his face and stare at his hand, huge, and I begin to
curse myself and curse Nic, to curse my whole life and curse the whole world
because in front of me is the most beautiful man that I have ever seen, ever. Someone
might ask, are you crazy? If he’s gorgeous you should be happy since he could
become your personal trainer – something he most certainly won’t become,
because I refuse. Instead I’m not happy, not at all. Because if he were to
become my personal trainer he would see me in awful shape, I mean, more awful
than usual, and already the norm is embarrassing enough. And then, I’m lousy at
any sport, except one. But that one is really the last one I’d accept to do in
front of this guy. Let’s say that generally speaking, from a sporting point of
view I can barely walk.  And I often fall over just walking.
    Anyway
I have to do something, so I put my hand in his and nod, looking him up and
down. I gaze into his light blue eyes.
    If
he says, “Olivia, like the lady iin Popeye” I’ll leave immediately and will
feel justified.
    But he
doesn’t say it, he just says, “I’m Andrea.”
    And
the name Andrea assumes a whole new meaning. Suddenly it becomes beautiful, it
becomes synonymous with blue and yellow and a fast-beating heart.
    He’s
very tall, I have to tilt my head up to look him in the face, and his face is
practically perfect. His hair is a very pale blond and the blue of his eyes is
so clear it seems transparent. He’s dressed in black from head to toe and… no,
his gym shoes aren’t super-blinding-white. You can see that they’re used and
grayish, normal. And no, he is not unnaturally tanned. His skin is white, but
on his high cheekbones there’s a veil of ruddiness, caused by the atrocious
cold we’re subjecting ourselves to. I look him in the face again and can’t make
sense of it. I can’t make sense of the perfect line of his large eyes,
straight, well-proportioned nose and light