Page 14 of Coach's Temptation

But then I look at her—really look at her—and I know she’s not playing anymore.

She’s testing me. Seeing if I’ll crack. If I’ll take back what I said in the steam room.

And fuck, I want to.

I want to grab her. I want to pin her against the boards and drag my hands over every inch of that body that’s been driving me insane since the day she walked into my life. I want to ripoff that damn jacket and get my mouth on her, feel her writhing underneath me again, all breathless and wrecked andmine.

For a second, just a second, I almost do it.

Almost.

One last time.

I hold her gaze, not daring to look away. “I meant what I said, Natalie.”

Something shifts in her expression. She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t tease.

Her throat bobs as she swallows, green eyes flickering with something unreadable.

And then… she gives the smallest nod that tells me, for the first time, she knows I mean it.

“Got it, Coach,” she murmurs.

She steps back, pulling herself out of my orbit.

She flashes one last smile, light and playful, but… different now. Then she turns and heads back toward the doors.

I watch her go, my entire body wired tight, my chest aching in ways I don’t like.

Now, it's time to focus.

Chapter Four

Natalie

Summit Café smells like fresh espresso, cinnamon sugar, and the kind of warm, cozy atmosphere that makes me wonder why anyone would want to live anywhere but in Iron Ridge.

The same bells above the door that used to greet me as a caffeine-starved student chime as I step in, and Clara is already reaching for a to-go cup before I even open my mouth.

"Morning, sweetheart," she calls, expertly maneuvering the espresso machine. "The usual?"

"Please," I sigh. "Extra shot. It’s that kind of day."

Clara laughs. "How're those boys holding up with playoffs coming?"

"As well as you'd expect. Logan's still favoring that ankle, but—"

I stop mid-sentence as she slides a cup across the counter. But instead of pushing it toward me, she keeps her hand firmly on it, a knowing smirk playing at her lips.

"That's not yours, sweetheart," Clara says. "That one's for him."

My stomach does a little flip. "Him?"

She taps her finger against the cup where I can now see the name scrawled in her loopy handwriting:Coach Brody.

A dark silhouette suddenly looms above me and my skin is suddenly all warm and tingly.

"That mine?" A deep voice from behind me make my butt cheeks squeeze together.

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