I needed to move. Needed to hit something or run until my lungs burned or do literally anything other than sit in my apartment and think.
I changed into gym clothes and grabbed my bag.
The facility gymwas open at all times for players, and I had my key card. But when I'd walked past the offices on my way there, I'd seen the light spilling out from under Coach's door.
I stood in the hallway for a second, debating whether to just keep walking. I should go to the gym. Should ignore this. Should maintain distance.
Instead, I knocked on the doorframe.
“Yeah?” Coach's voice came from somewhere low. Behind the desk.
I pushed the door open and found him on his back, half under his desk, surrounded by cables and what looked like apower strip. He was still in gym clothes—short black shorts that barely reached mid-thigh and a fitted t-shirt that had ridden up, exposing a strip of his stomach and the line of dark hair disappearing into his waistband. His thighs were thick and powerful, slightly damp with sweat like he'd just come from working out himself.
I absolutely did not stare at that.
“Hartley.” He tilted his head back to look at me, upside down from this angle. “What are you doing here?”
“Was heading to the gym. Saw your light on. What are you doing?”
“IT installed new monitors today and fucked up all the cable management. Now nothing's plugged in right and I can't get my computer to recognize the third screen.” He gestured vaguely at the tangle of wires above him. “Been trying to fix it for an hour.”
“You want help?”
He paused, clearly weighing whether this was a good idea. “You know anything about cables?”
“Enough. Used to help my dad wire his home office when I was a kid.”
“Sure. Yeah. That'd be good.”
I dropped my gym bag by the door and moved around the desk. The space was tight—barely enough room for one person, let alone two. I crouched down and got a better look at the disaster zone of cables.
“Jesus. They really did fuck this up.”
“Told them I could do it myself. They insisted.” Coach shifted, trying to get a better angle. “Problem is I can barely fit under here. Keep hitting my head on the underside of the desk.”
“I can get under there. I'm smaller.”
He looked at me for a beat, something flickering in his eyes, then nodded. “Alright. Yeah. That'd be easier.”
He slid out from under the desk, and I took his place, lying on my back and scooting underneath. The space was tight but manageable for me.
Coach crouched beside the desk, close enough that I could see his legs from my position. Those short gym shorts left nothing to the imagination.
“Power cables are the black ones,” he said, voice carefully neutral. “HDMI is blue. USB is?—”
“I know what cables are, Coach.”
“Just making sure.” He grabbed a flashlight from his desk drawer and handed it to me. “You'll need this.”
I took it, and our fingers brushed. That contact sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with electricity.
Focus. I was here to help fix cables. That's it.
I held the flashlight with one hand and started tracing cables with the other, trying to figure out what went where. Coach stayed crouched beside the desk, occasionally pointing out which cable went to which monitor.
“That one,” he said, leaning down to get a better view. “That goes to the middle monitor.”
From my position on my back under the desk, looking up, I had a perfect view up the leg of his shorts. And either he wasn't wearing underwear or he was wearing something minimal, because I could see the heavy weight of his cock hanging there in the shadows.
