Page 5 of Scoring with the Coach's Daughter

And today? Hell, I’m not sure. She’s got walls ten feet high, but there’s something about her that I can’t ignore. Maybe it’s the way she watches Ellie with so much love. Maybe it’s the quiet loneliness I see in her when she thinks no one’s looking. I know that look because it’s mirrored in my eyes as well.

I stand and stretch. I should’ve left fifteen minutes ago. It’s been a long day, and I need some sleep.

I can’t shake my thoughts of Sam. I can’t help but wonder what it would take to make her smile again.

The party’s winding down, and most of the guests have already trickled out. I’m standing by the front door, keys in hand, but something’s keeping me here.

Or maybe someone.

I hear soft footsteps behind me and turn, half-expecting Coach or Mrs. McAllister. But it’s not them—it’s Sam. I’m surprised, and I’m nervous like a teenager on his first date. The only thing that makes me nervous is my career being in limbo.

She stops short when she sees me, her arms crossed like she’s bracing herself for whatever I’m about to say. She’s barefoot now, and her hair slightly mussed—out of the guarded, polished mode she’s been in all night.

“You’re still here,” she says, her voice softer than before.

“I was just about to head out,” I reply, leaning against the doorframe. “Didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”

She narrows her eyes. “Goodbye, or some parting words to irk me?”

I chuckle, low and easy. “You make me soundso predictable.”

“You are predictable.” But her smile gives way to the notion that she’s teasing me.

The corners of my mouth lift. God, I love her fire and sass. “Then maybe you should predict this.”

Before I can second-guess myself, I take a step closer, closing the space between us. The air thickens, electric, as I watch her lips part slightly, her breath hitching. The flicker of defiance in her eyes clashes with something softer—something that tells me she wants this just as much as I do. Her eyes widen but she doesn’t back away. I kiss her. It starts slow, teasing, testing, but the moment she sighs and leans into me, I’m a goner.

Her arms reach to my chest and grab the fabric of my shirt. I cup her face gently, deepening the kiss. As my lips linger on hers, I savor the warmth of her mouth, and she leans into me. I love the fact that she’s pressing against me. My hard cock finds a resting place against her as our bodies merge.

But once I’ve tasted her sweet lips, I know one taste of her will never be enough.

My hands skim her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us. A low hum vibrates in her throat, and when I slide my tongue against hers, her fingers clench the material of my shirt, like she’s afraid to let go. She softly moans.

The kiss is short of PG-13. It’s not polite, casual, or anything close to what I expected. It’s heat and softness all at once, like something snapping into place that’s been waiting on the sidelines too long. Her hands move over my chest, wanting more.

For a moment, it’s just us, tangled in a heady mix of heat and longing. My pulse thunders in my ears, and I can feel her body trembling slightly, her desire pooling between her thighs. It takes everything in me not to push her back against the nearest wall and lose myself in her completely with no noise,and no expectations. Just her lips on mine, the way they’ve been since the first time I thought about kissing Sam McAllister years ago.

When we finally break apart she’s looking up at me. I notice her breathing is uneven, and her lips are swollen. I resist the urge to chase her mouth again—to taste her just once more. Her pupils are blown wide, like the aperture in a camera lens. Her fingers are still fisted in my shirt, and for a second, I think she’s never going to let go so I don’t move. I’m afraid to say a word because if I do, it will break this perfect moment.

“You…” She pauses, her voice a little breathless. “You can’t just do that.”

“Seemed like the right thing to do,” I reply, keeping my voice low.

Her gaze darts to the floor, then back up to me. There’s something in her eyes—a mixture of anger, confusion, and something else I can’t quite pin down.

“I—” she starts, but before she can finish when we both hear Coach’s voice in the kitchen as he heads our way.

“You leaving yet, Rivers, or are you setting up camp?” he asks as he busts up our awkward parting.

I grin, stepping back reluctantly. “Guess that’s my cue.”

I hope I kissed her into submission because she doesn’t move or speak. She just stands there, watching me as I open the front door and step out into the night air.

I make it halfway to my truck as my Coach walks me out. I wonder if he saw us. He’s carrying a thermos—probably coffee for the road—and hands it to me as I lean against the hood.

“Nice seeing you tonight, Jake,” he says, his tone warm but laced with that no-nonsense edge I’ve always respected.

“Always good to see you, Coach,” I reply, tipping the thermos in thanks.

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