The fabric of her dress rides up her thighs, and I slide my hand between her legs. She’s bare.
“Yes, right there.” She breathes against my mouth. “Feels so good.”
I kiss down her neck, her collarbone, the top of her shoulder, where her dress strap has slipped. “You’re so damn sexy.”
Her head falls back to give me better access, her fingers threading through my hair. “Fuck, I’m so close.”
“Think you can come for me?”
“Yes,” she says, pulling my mouth back to hers, and she’s completely lost in the sensation. Her hands work my belt, the button, and she reaches for the zipper.
“I love you,” I say against her throat.
“I love you too.” Her voice is breathless, her hands fumbling with moving my pants down so I can enter her. “Please, give me …”
The door opens.
Time stops.
Coach Hart stands in the doorway with his hand still on the handle. The smile on his face fades, and his brows furrow like he’s short-circuiting. Kendall moves her dress down and tries to readjust her clothes as I zip my pants, trying to ignore my cock that’s rock hard. Nobody moves or speaks.
The air-conditioning kicks on with a soft whir. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughs at a joke we’ll never hear.
Coach’s expression cycles through confusion and disbelief, then lands on something I’ve never seen before. I nearly shudder.
“Dad.” Kendall’s voice comes out choked.
“What the hell?” Coach Hart says.
Kendall slides off the table and stands, her fingers fumbling with her strap. I reach over and do it for her.
Coach slams the door until it rattles, then walks farther into the room. The vein in his head, which usually makes its appearance when the team is cooked, is on full display. That’s when I know we’re fucked.
He glares at Kendall, then focuses directly on me with flared nostrils.
“This ends now,” he says with venom in his tone. “Right. Fucking. Now.”
This is it, I think.
This is my moment of truth. The moment I either win or lose it all.
32
KENDALL
My father looks between us, his face cycling through emotions I’ve never seen directed at me before. It’s betrayal and disgust.
“You both make me sick,” he spits out before turning and leaving. He doesn’t yell.
The door doesn’t slam this time. The absence of his anger is so much worse than the presence of it would be.
Patterson reaches for me, but I’m already moving, pushing past him into the hallway. My father’s back is retreating toward his office, and my heels click too loudly on the floor as I jog to catch up.
“Dad. Dad, wait. Please.”
He doesn’t slow down and ignores me completely.
“Let me explain,” I tell him.
