And when he paused not too far away from where me and my cheer mates were stretching to peel off his white t-shirt sodden with sweat, my jaw almost hit the ground. He wrung it out withstrong hands and my core throbbed, imagining it were me he was handling with his strong limbs.
Then he doused a water bottle over his sweaty, thick body, coated with chiselled muscles and black ink running down both his arms. He was hot. So. Fucking. Hot. The dusting of hair on his chest and happy trail made me feral for him.
Never did I have such a visceral reaction to a man until him.
All the boys from my past were selfish, full of themselves, and only about their own pleasure. None of them could locate my clit. But something tells me Coach Thane would have no problem finding it.
In my fantasies, he’s above me, holding me down by the neck. Worrying my clit between the pads of his fingers. Calling me a good girl. Thrusting his fingers inside my pussy until I’m dripping down to his knuckles. Slapping a hand over my mouth as I come to mute my cries because this—us—is forbidden and nobody can know.
My face heats at the imagery playing in my mind.
Snap out of it, Marlow. This is not the time to be having these thoughts.
Next thing I know, there’s a hand waving in front of my face. “Earth to, Marlow. Hello. Is anyone there?”
Shit. Telling Michaela I zoned out to filthy thoughts of Coach Thane is not an option. “Y-Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”
“About?”
A little white lie never hurt anybody, right? “About the ceramic painting class we’ve got scheduled later. I’m so excited.”
“Me too. It’ll be a great change of scenery after this morning’s situation.” Michaela hops off the bed and extends a hand to me. “C’mon. Let’s go see what Coach Thane—” she saysCoach Thanein a teasing manner and wiggles her eyebrows at me. I groan, almost regretting telling her about this crush. “—is up to since we’ve been gone.”
I take her hand. We exit her room and descend the staircase to the ground floor. The second our feet touch the last step, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and something buttery wafts in the air.
Michaela beelines it for the kitchen and I trail behind, taking an extra moment to inspect the picture frames in their hallway. There’s a couple of their parents before I suspect Michaela and Coach Thane were born. Then there’s a few of my best friend from baby to teenage years. My heart skips a beat when I come across a few of Coach Thane from when he was younger. God, he was always handsome, wasn’t he?
I couldn’t have picked a worse man to obsess over, knowing he can never be mine. For all intent and purposes, even if I don’t report to him, I’m a student at the college where he teaches. It would bewrong.
Plus, I’m sure Coach Thane has his fair share of picks from the dating pool. I doubt he’d want anything to do with a twenty-one-year-old cheerleader who’s got nearly a complete bachelor’s degree under her belt and surviving on scholarship money.
And regardless of what Michaela said about Coach Thane checking me out, I doubt my crush could morph into more. Even if deep down there’s a small part of me that wishes it would. I’m at this point in my life where I want a real relationship. Someone to take care of me. Someone to come home to. Someone to love me until the end. I’m not sure why, but sometimes it feels impossible to find in this world of ours.
Just as I enter the kitchen, I hear Michaela say in shock, “Oh, what’s this?”
And my heart practically somersaults.
Coach Thane stands by the kitchen island, a coffee pot in hand and a vulnerable expression on his face. In front of him are two pastel-colored plates stacked with small mountains of pancakes, doused in butter and maple syrup. “I made breakfast.”
Oh, my God.
He cooked for us?
Michaela and I watch him silently, stunned.
“I figured you didn’t get to eat since the leak in your apartment happened so early this morning.” He explains and then frowns, green eyes moving between Michaela and me. “Should I have made something else? Whatever you want, I’ll make it. Just tell me.”
The gruffly spoken words, like he’s so eager to be a good host to his sister and I tears at me. Never in a million years did I think I’d get to see this soft side of Coach Thane.
Now I’m faced with the reality that while Coach Thane is a drill sergeant on the outside, barking orders at his football players and working them to their full potential, he’s actually a teddy bear on the inside.
“No. Pancakes are fine.” Michaela shoots me a look I don’t understand and then shrugs at her brother. “It’s just…we already had breakfast before we came.”
Instantly, he’s crestfallen, his shoulders drooping with embarrassment.
Michael stands there guilty.
I want to palm my forehead. This is a mess. Clearly, there’s a lot of work to be done in order for the siblings to mend their relationship. And because I want to help them—and a part of me longs to have this: a family that’s alive and cooks for you, I blurt out another white lie, “Michaela and I can eat for three and webarely atebefore we came. So we’re definitely still starving.” I glance at my best friend and discreetly widen my eyes to signal to her that we are going to sit down and eat these pancakes, every last bite, until we’re stuffed, because what Coach Thane did was extremely kind. “Right, Mic?”
