Page 95 of Whistle

“Protect us both.”

“At least you don’t deny it.”

He made a rough sound. “What the hell else was I supposed to do? It’s not that simple! I’m older than you by twenty years.”

“Nineteen.” I corrected him.

He made a sound.

“I’m your coach. An authority figure. You shouldn’t be at my house. In my bed. This is highly inappropriate, and I could get fired. If I get fired, I won’t be here to send updates on your progress per the agreement that got you out of jail. Not to mention, your relationship with Rush is already strained. My daughter has no idea I even prefer men.”

“You have a lot to lose.” I agreed.

“So do you.”

“No,” I echoed, hollow. “There’s nothing left for me to lose.”

I climbed off his lap, and he let me go. I kept my back to him, straightening my shirt, strengthening my resolve.

“What about me?” he whispered right behind me, so close I could feel the warmth of his body.

I lifted my chin. “Can’t lose something I never had.”

He wrapped around me again. This time, it was so much like this morning that a piece of my chest caved in. “You do have me,” he vowed against my ear.

“You just said?—”

“There’s a lot working against us, and I need some time to figure this out.”

Us. God, how I want there to be an us.

“I need to talk to my daughter.”

My wishes for an us withered just as they bloomed. And what happens when she says she won’t support it? It will be me or his daughter. Me or Elite. Me or his reputation. Me or his entire life.

I could never equate to even one of those things, let alone them all.

“We should go. We’re going to be late.” It would look suspicious if we showed up late together.

He cursed and started walking, linking our fingers and towing me along. I was so surprised by the casual contact that I stared at where we touched until he pushed me into the passenger seat of the Mustang.

Once we were on the road, the steady rumble of the engine beneath us, I felt him glance in my direction. I kept my face turned away, watching the landscape whiz by.

“Goldilocks.”

That name was like a vise around my heart.

“Hey,” he said when I ignored him, his warm palm sliding over the top of my thigh. “I want this. You.”

Finally, I turned to look at him. He was so sexy. So solid. It made me ache. “You want me?” I asked, the words a cautious whisper.

“So much it scares me.”

“Why?”

His hand stiffened on my thigh before going slack. “What?”

“Why do you want me?” What do you see that no one else does?

---