Page 71 of Forever Offsides

“Thanks for breakfast, Coach.”

“It’s Rhett. Don’t call me Coach. At least not when we’re like this.”

Her eyes meet mine, and she nods. “Fine. Rhett. Thanks for breakfast. It was good.”

“I can’t say anytime to you, can I?”

She nibbles on her thumbnail. “No.”

I swoop my hand around her waist and haul her against me. My head dips, but I hold myself back. “One date wasn’t enough.”

Her hands land on my biceps. “It has to be. We can’t do this again.”

I hate that. I hate it for both of us. Looking at her, it’s impossible to remember why she’s so forbidden to me. That is, until my phone rings in the kitchen with Russel’s ringtone.

I stiffen and force my feet back a step. My eyes close, my features wrought with longing and guilt. “Have a good shift, Quinn.”

Without another word, she leaves my house, and all the warmth and light and air go with her, rendering me in a suffocating cold darkness I see no freedom from.

22

QUINN

“I’ll have a decaf pumpkin spice latte with enough whipped cream to kill a cat and a drizzle of caramel over it.”

I choke on a laugh, and Skylar throws me a side-eye.

“What? Cats are lactose intolerant.”

“I know. Continue with your order.”

She shrugs at me and returns to the barista. “And two blueberry muffins, please.”

“Anything for you?” the lady asks.

“A venti coffee with cream and no sugar, please.” I push Skylar out of the way. “It’s on me. Your money is no good here.”

I get a wet kiss on my cheek. “You’re the best. I’ve got you next time.”

“Name me godmother, and we’re good.”

She laughs only to wince and grab her belly. “God, this girl loves to kick me.”

“Go sit down. Get off your feet.” I point to our friends who are tucked around a large table in the corner already with their coffees since they got here before us. “I’ll bring it to you.”

She heads to the table, and I move over to the side where pickup is. My phone vibrates in my purse, and I pull it out only to groan.

Russel: What are you doing tonight?

Seriously? I’m at my end with this. The guy doesn’t know when to quit. Since opening night, he’s texted nearly every day. The number of times his father has texted since our date? Zero. I haven’t replied to Russel, but this is getting out of hand.

Me: Why do you keep texting me?

Russel: Because I miss you and want to hang out. We could get dinner at that little Greek restaurant near where you used to live. You loved that place.

Me: I’m not going on a date with you.

Russel: Whoa, slow down, friend. Who said anything about a date?