I’m not sure exactly when it started, but we always do this when we’re outside the safety of one of our apartments. We act. Pretend we’re not doing anything wrong. Even though we aren’t.
Probably.
I’m still not sure where exactly the line is between coach and friend. And how will I know when I’m crossing it?
I walk into my room, and my heart leaps when I hear a knock. Glancing at the source of the sound, I realize there is a connecting door between our rooms. The way my heart speeds up is definitely crossing the line between coach and… more than friends.
Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be able to control my reaction to the man anymore. I’ve never been as physically attracted to someone in my life, and now that I know how great he is as a person, it’s starting to wear on me.
“Hey.” I open the door to reveal Beckett, his dark eyes dancing with mirth.
“Hey right back,” he replies. “What are the odds?”
“I didn’t realize hotels like this even had rooms with connecting doors.”
“Just lucky, I guess,” he says on an exhale.
Standing here on either side of the doorway, my body responds to his nearness. We might sit by each other frequently, but I’m almost never looking at him from the front, and so have not built up my immunity to the sight that is Beckett Kane, in a hotel room, mere inches from me.
He’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants with a black Yeti shirt pulling across his broad chest. His dark hair is hidden under a black backward Yeti cap, and fuck. It’s the exact same thing I’ve seen men wear for almost twenty years. But somehow, tonight, with him, it’s setting me on fire.
I want to jump into his arms. To wrap my legs around his waist. To kiss him so deeply, it’s impossible to tell where I end and he begins.
I don’t know what he sees on my face, but his body reacts, going taut, as his pupils expand.
“You’ve got…” He leans forward to brush a strand of hair back behind my ear. The path his finger traces tingles at the sensation, and I have to bite my cheek to keep a purr from escaping.
He keeps his hand there, and I lean ever so slightly into his touch, my eyes closing of their own volition.
Pull away! Fuck. He is your player!
“Fin,” Beckett murmurs, and I snap my gaze to his.
He’s even closer now, the warmth of his body seeping through the inches of space between us.
“You look… so beautiful tonight.” His breath hitches slightly, and he pulls his hand from my face like it’s on fire. “I mean, just like, you know, good. In the way a friend would say to another friend. You look good, pal. Looking good, buddy.”
A shiver flows down my body, leaving small shudders as aftershocks in its wake. I pull my lower lip into my mouth, fascinated by the way Beckett’s gaze tracks it, not looking away.
I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
Every inch of my body is desperate for him to touch me again. “You look… good… too, pal.” I try to smile, but I’m not sure it’s worked. My ability to convince myself this is a bad idea seems to be broken.
I don’t know whether it’s the adrenaline from the overtime win or the fact that I can move in and out of Beckett’s room freely without anyone seeing us, but suddenly, I want nothing more than to see where this can go.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever had a coach call me pal before,” Beckett admits. His eyes are still on my lips, and he says it as if he’s almost in a trance.
But the word coach is enough to pull me from mine.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I am his coach.
I can’t do this.
“I’ve got to… bed,” I manage to get out. “Super tired. Sorry. No film tonight.”
I jump back, shutting the door, not waiting for him to say anything else.
