“This?” I questioned.
“This,” he repeated, stepping toward me.
“You’re here with someone else,” I reminded him. “And I’m just your—”
He inched a step closer. “Say neighbor or student or whatever other excuses you can find, Trinity. Dare you.”
I glared at him, hurt and irritation consuming my rational thoughts.
“That’s exactly what I am, Preston.” I threw my hands up. “What are we even doing? You really want to risk your career over scratching an itch?” I shook my head. “I worked hard to get here and I sure as hell won’t be known as the woman who spreads her legs for whatever team she’s working for.”
“That’s what you think this is?” He practically growled. “Scratching an itch?”
“I’m sure Sierra would be more than happy to assist you.” I yanked open my door and slid inside before driving the knife in one last time. “Coach.”
31
Preston
I watched Trinity spin out of the parking lot, my jaw almost to the gravel. She thought all I was interested in was getting her into my bed.Of course she thinks that. You’re an athlete.
“Damn it,” I muttered to myself before I stormed to my truck across the lot.
We weren’t leaving things like this. Unresolved. It was there, lingering. Hovering. The way my senses would heighten when she walked into a room. The way she smiled. Her dedication to her career. This was more than scratching an itch and I was fucking sick and tired of fighting it.
Climbing into my truck, I quickly pulled onto the highway, heading straight to my house. I wasn’t far behind her, and as I whipped into my driveway, she was just stepping out of her SUV.
I was out of my truck in three seconds, my door slamming before I was traveling across the street.
I saw the widening of her eyes as she turned, increasing her pace to her front door.
“It’s late,” she said, shoving her key in the lock. “Go home.”
“We weren’t finished with our conversation.” My foot hit the porch just as she opened the door.
I didn’t let her slam it like she intended. My palm caught the wood, my eyebrow lifting as she stomped inside.
“Fine. What else is there to say?” She pressed.
“If I weren’t the coach?” I asked, kicking the door shut with my foot.
“Well, you are, so.” She tossed her paper bag on the table.
“If I weren’t.” I stepped toward her. “If you had let me take you on that date.”
“It wasn’t a date.”
“Whatever. It was my excuse to see you again.” Another step closer. “What would have happened?”
She inched away, her back almost connecting with the kitchen island. “There’s no point to this.”
I chanced one more stride, my hands landing on the granite beside her as I laid out all of my cards. “I want you.”
She sucked in a sharp breath.
“All of you. Not just your body. I want your smile. I want your laugh. I want to learn about your quirky coupon habits and I want to know about your childhood, your thoughts and your fears.”
“Preston….”
