Page 71 of Whistle

Ryan, Jamie, and Wes all groaned.

My heart fluttered.

Coach appeared at the end of the hall, whistle still between his lips. Our eyes collided, and even with the distance between us, something in my chest settled.

Finally.

Everything around us seemed to pause, and for a moment, it was just him and me and the undeniable pull between us.

The whistle bounced off his chest when he let it go, and his footsteps echoed down the hall as he prowled forward. “What the hell is going on here?”

“What are you doing here, Coach?” Wes asked.

“You think you mouth breathers can get into a fight and someone not call me?” He crossed his arms over his chest, avoiding my open stare. “Well, which one of you is it?”

“You mean you don’t know?” Jamie mused.

“I am in no mood for your shit, Owens.”

Whatever Jamie heard in Coach’s voice had him sitting up a little straighter and holding up his hands. “It wasn’t me.”

Coach looked at Ryan. Ryan slid a glance at me.

A muscle jumped beneath the stubble on Coach’s jaw, and he turned. It was quick, a mere passing of his attention, but then he did a double take.

A deep sound ripped from his throat, and he was on me, hand grasping my chin and holding my face for his inspection. “You’re bleeding,” he intoned, turning my face to another angle. “Why are you bleeding?”

“Usually what happens when you take a fist to the face,” I quipped.

His hand was warm. He smelled familiar, the exact scent on his hoodie that faded after I slept in it one too many times. His fingers bit into my chin. “Someone hit you.” He was quiet. Deadly. “Who?”

A shiver worked its way up my spine, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

I crave him. It scared me how much.

“Just the roommate you couldn’t wait to dump me on,” I said, polishing my armor.

His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Commotion in the doorway to my left made him look away as Ronnie stepped into the hall. “Coach Resch.”

The fingers holding my face let go.

“I need to talk to you about your swimmers,” he complained. “Do you have any idea what kind of…” I felt his disgust hurl in my direction. “Representation you have for Elite.”

Bam!

My head whipped up as Ronnie flew back, landing so hard on his ass that he skidded backward across the floor.

Stunned silence quieted everything. No one, not even the air, moved.

And then as though a balloon had burst, everything started again. Ronnie pushed up, bracing his weight on both palms.

Coach strolled forward, his jacket making a light whisking sound with his sure movement. Grabbing the front of Ronnie’s shirt, he hauled him to his feet. “You put your hands on my swimmer?” he asked, voice even and low.

“He hit me first!” Ronnie defended.

“I don’t care if he whips out his dick and pisses on you, son. You don’t ever put your hands on one of mine ever again.”

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