Page 37 of Kiss Me Tonight

If such a person exists, they’re incredibly lucky.

“We gonna switch drills and then wind down with some stretching?” he asks, fisting the whistle hanging from a black lanyard around his neck.

Get your head in the game, girl. Do what you do best—coach.“Yeah. Yeah, that’ll work.”

Dominic nods. “Sounds good, Coach.”

Coach.

Tweet!His whistle explodes. “Let’s get goin’, guys! One more hour and then you’re free to go home and play video games for the rest of the day.”

That earns him some raucous laughter and high fives out of the kids. They ditch their water and Gatorade bottles on the metal bleachers, then toss their trash in the nearby garbage can.

I watch as Dominic turns away, his broad shoulders appearing even more massive today since his T-shirt is a little snug. My gaze falls to his round bubble butt. The man must do leg presses and squats all day to get impressive glutes like that.

Maybe working out is his escape from reality, what he does when I see his pickup truck parked in his driveway and heavy rock music blasting from his house. The music is loud and angry but every night when I climb into bed, I can’t help but think that it also sounds a little lonely.

Likehe’slonely.

Which is an absolutely absurd thought. Dominic DaSilva might be hiding out in Maine, but he still has the world at his fingertips. He could literally snap them and half of London would come scurrying over, despite the fact that he’s an enemy of the New England Patriots, having played for Tampa Bay for over a decade.

I don’twantto think more about Dominic than I need to, and I certainly don’t want to be giving him any more of my headspace than he deserves. He’s my assistant coach. He technically works for me. Who the hell cares if he’s lonely?

You do.

Dammit.

“DaSilva!”

I’m not even sure what I’m going to say until he’s wheeling around, hands lifted to the back of his head, where he’s playing with his ball cap again. His T-shirt lifts, revealing a dark happy trail that disappears down into his shorts.

My heart jerks.

Or maybe that’s just my starved libido thrashing around like a beached whale.

I can’t make out his dark eyes from here, but his tense body language conveys all I need to know: he’s on edge, ready to release the coil and spring, and I’m . . .

Curious.

“Why did you bring up the . . . rougher years?”

The heavy ropes of his arm muscles visibly tighten as he whips off his hat and slaps it against the outside of his thigh. He did that the other day too, when we first officially met after Topher drove right into his truck. A nervous tick, maybe?

After a moment, he shoves the ball cap back on his head, this time with the brim facing forward. Like at the Golden Fleece, the upper half of his face is concealed, leaving me in the dark about his inner thoughts.

I release a pent up breath, accepting the fact that he’s not going to answer. Which isfine, just fine. This won’t be the first time in my career that I’ve had to work with someone who I get along with like oil and water. Sure it helps to be friends but it’s not a requirement to get the job done.

And something tells me that Dominic and I . . . we’re not on the path to friendship.

Not even close.

Just as I begin to turn away, ready to head back to my new group for more lift drills, he speaks up, voice low enough that I only hear it as it carries on the early summer breeze: “Because someone told me that if I want to hack it out at this coaching gig, I have to be prepared to get vulnerable.” A small pause that catches my breath and fills my lungs with anticipation. “It’s safe to say I’m a work in progress.”

11

Dominic

I’ve discovered the tenth circle of hell:

---