“Why don’t you give me your number so we can text you this week before workouts?”
“Um ...” I pulled my bag higher on my shoulder, searching for the right words. “I don’t have a phone, but I’ll be here.”
“What?”
“What did you just say?”
Their high-pitched squeals overlapped and merged into a painful shrieking in my head.
“No phone.” I shrugged and turned to go.
Sensing my agitation, the others got the message and moved along, brushing past me, whispering their way toward the doors to freedom.
I leaned against the wall, trying to keep the panic at bay. I let it funnel around my ankles, but snuffed it out before it made its way up my spine.
“Jules? You okay?” a deep voice said.
I hadn’t realized that my eyes were clamped shut. When they opened, there he was—the man of my dreams—his hair mussed, curling around the ears. Eyeglasses framed his face, the large, black-framed kind only models and actors could carry off.
“I’m fine. Just adjusting.”
“It’s going to take some time, especially after what you went through. Do you want to talk?”
My mind said no but my body said yes, forcing my head to nod.
“Come on. We’ll go to my office.”
I broke free from the wall and felt Coach King’s hand reach for my lower back, his fingers lightly guiding me, the same ones I’d imagined to be calloused. His touch felt both right and wrong—in equal parts.
Inside his office, he said, “Have a seat. Want a drink? Water? Powerade?”
“Water, please.” I gulped the cool liquid he offered me, hoping it would douse the fire raging in my belly simply from his fingers making contact with my shirt.
“How are your classes?” He sat on the edge of his desk, his arms braced on either side of him.
“I’ve only had one so far, but good.”
“And the other girls? They’re reaching out?”
Rage coiled inside me. “You didn’t say anything?”
He shook his head, licking his lips, and I focused on every movement. His tongue slid across his lips, pink and slightly cracked, before it disappeared into his mouth. I felt myself mirror his actions, tasting my cherry lip gloss, wanting his lips on me.
“No,” he said. “It’s your story to tell. But for the record, I think you should be a little more transparent. You’ve overcome quite a bit. You should be proud to be back in the game.”
“I’ll think about it.”No way.
“Either way, the others are being welcoming?”
“Yes, they’re driving me around, filling me in on team lore.”
He raised an eyebrow at that. “Do tell.”
There it was again. The spark of something between us. His mouth lifted into the most delicious smile, and never before did I wish to lick something so badly.
“Apparently, you talk about me a lot. Too much. And Stacia didn’t take too kindly to it.”
“Stacia has ...hada thing for me. But I’m a coach and she’s a student, and not my type.”
