Page 35 of Courtside

He was still, objectively, the most handsome man she’d ever seen in her life.

She scrolled through his photos, noting that he was alone in every photo he chose to share. Many of them were selfies in a gym mirror, featuring a peek of toned abs or a flexed arm.

Sage looked up from her phone, staring out at the tall lamp that illuminated the sidewalk.

What the fuck was she doing?

Without looking down, she pressed the lock button on the side of her phone, shaking herself as if she could break out of the painful melancholy that settled over her.

But it only grew when she got back to her dark apartment, painfully aware in that moment of howaloneshe was.

She hated the fact that she was reduced to loneliness after years of building herself up to be fiercely independent. Sage took pride in the fact that she needed no one.

Her education was paid for with merit scholarships, and the rest of her living expenses came from the hotel job she worked over the summer. After growing up with the constant sense that there wasn’t enough looming over her, it was the least she could do to free her mom and sister from the burden of supporting her.

It was why, even though the constant job postings drove her crazy, she couldn’t tell her mom to stop sending them. Because she knew that whatever job she took coming out of college needed to be enough to support herself, and it was up to her to make that happen.

She felt her chest tightening, her eyes still threatening to spill tears, and so she did the only thing that she knew how to do when it all started to feel like too much. She quickly changed and then ran down the stairs from her apartment, her old tennis shoes squeaking against the cement steps.

She was barely aware of her surroundings as she entered the fitness center, blinking against the harsh white lights. It was quiet, save for the whirring of one of the treadmill belts and the harsh, heavy breathing of someone exercising.

She glanced up, surprised to see someone else there.

But her surprise faded when she recognized the looming body of David Hughes running at a punishing pace. His face was reflected in the tall windows, and she could see his mouth pulled down into a frown. The skin on his bare arms shone with sweat, and his shorts revealed his long, strong legs.

Sage hesitated.

She should go. She should let him have the space. Based on how he looked after the game, he needed the processing and release of a hard workout more than she did.

But then she thought about him in the locker room, in that moment of vulnerability where he too had been alone, facing the pressure and disappointment of a team that wasn’t performing. It was obvious that he held himself, as their coach, responsible for their play.

Maybe, like Sage, he needed to not feel so utterly alone.

So she stepped up onto the treadmill directly beside him, even though they were the only two in the room. David glanced up, doing a double take when he noticed her. She thought he might say something, but he only gave her a silent nod before turning back to staring mindlessly out of the window in front of them.

Sage sped up to a run, subconsciously matching his pace, her long legs finding rhythm with his stride.

As her breaths lengthened and her lungs began to feel the familiar burn, she felt a quiet wave of relief in the simple fact that, in that moment, she wasn’t alone.

CHAPTER10

THERE WASN’T TIME

DAVID

David tugged his hat down over his hair, which was absolutely nuts that morning. He’d resorted to using some sort of pomade product that Chuck had lent him, but even that couldn’t keep it pushed back.

He and Tim walked down the hall from their offices to the athletic director’s office; Connie Brown, Southeastern’s AD, had requested the conversation after their fifth loss of the season.

David could already feel himself sweating through his team branded polo, palms itching as he tried to keep himself from fidgeting. The four cups of coffee he’d powered through that morning probably weren’t helping, but there was no undoing that now.

The door to Connie’s office was propped open, and Tim stepped aside to let David walk in first. He shared a look with his assistant coach, wishing yet again that Tim would give himsomethingother than distance and vague disapproval.

He could really use a sidekick right about now.

David rapped his knuckles on the door frame. “Good morning, Connie,” he said, relieved that his voice was steady.

Connie Brown looked up from where she sat at her desk. She was a formidable woman, maybe in her mid-fifties, brown skin weathered from years spent coaching track, with short hair, wire framed glasses, and an old, green Southeastern windbreaker that she wore regardless of the weather.

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