His hair is damp from his sweat, and curls brush the nap of his neck. His arms flex as he pushes off the turf. And when he jogs back into the line after a drill, his fingers hook in the waistband of his shorts like heknowsI’m watching.
I’m sure he does; hell, the whole team would be blind not to notice at this point.
I glance away, force my focus on Taylor, then Blackman, then literallyanyoneelse—but it doesn’t last. I look back. Again and again. Like an idiot. Like a man with no self-control. Like someone who spent last night watching that same body beg to come on a screen while whisperingYes, Siruntil I came undone.
Maldita sea.
My whistle hangs useless around my neck. My clipboard stays untouched at my side. I’ve barely called out a single correction, and warmups are almost over.
This is a problem.
“Coach.” Will jogs past, slowing just long enough to smirk. “You spacing out or just appreciating the view?”
I narrow my eyes. “Run another lap.”
He grins like I handed him a gold star.
Tyrell snickers as he passes next. “You want us to leave the field so you two can get a minute alone?”
“Lap.”
“Totally worth it.”
I rub a hand over my face.
It’s not like I’m doing anything. Not now during practice. But they’re not stupid. Players catch more than they should, especially when the coach gets a look on his face every time number twenty-two so much asbreathes.
And Luke’s not helping.
He’s on his hands and knees for a stretch now, ass in the air like he’s auditioning for a fucking OnlyFans sponsorship. His eyes flick up, lock with mine for a second, and hesmirks.
He’s a devil in a practice jersey.
I blow the whistle harder than necessary. “Let’s go! Partner drills. Skill position pairs—Blackman, Taylor. Peoples, Johnson.” I call out most of the team, until I can’t avoid calling out Luke’s name. “Rivera, Jenkins pair up. Maddox, you’re with me.”
A few heads swivel. A few brows lift. But no one says anything. They know better.
Luke jogs over, eyes wide with mock innocence. “Need a partner, Coach?”
I look at him—really look at him—and something inside me lurches.
It’s not just want anymore.
It’s not even justlust.
It’sneed.It’s watching the way he fits into this team like he was born to lead it. The way he pushes, provokes,performs.And it terrifies me because I’ve been down this road before. I’ve cared before. And look where that got me.
Crushed.
Guilt-ridden.
Alone.
But none of that matters when he’s close enough that I can smell him—grass, sweat, something sharp and citrusy clinging to his skin like a second breath.
“You’re late on your hip turn,” I manage, tone rough as I circle behind him. “You’re compensating on your left side again.”
He shrugs, easy and loose. “Maybe I’m just trying to get your attention.”
