Page 4 of Troublemaker
Just one more reason to hate him.
And even though my friend had somehow found a fiancé that knew his way around a pair of handcuffs, every other guy my age out there was a bumbling idiot when it came to sex—forceful or otherwise. They might pretend they could boss me around, but really, they were babies with boners. I needed a man.
But not Coach Samson,I reminded myself. Oh no, I’d find myself an older man, but it wouldn’t be the asshole who was still in control of my life.
First, I had to finish getting ready and go get lectured by my guardian for whatever perceived trouble I had caused this time.
At least I’d get there late.
I applied Barbie Pink lipstick and blew myself a kiss.
There.I’d full-on piss him off.
“Have fun!” Leslie giggled as I turned to go in my low-rise jeans and tiny pink crop top, tugging it down for maximum cleavage—and Ihada maximum.
“Oh, I will,” I promised, because no matter how annoying the lecture was, I’d make sure to have fun…at “Coach’s” expense.
I always did.
Tabb’s campuswas small and modern. No creeping ivy or gothic buildings. Tabb prided itself on being fully immersed in the present day, and that meant chrome, glass, and very little greenery. As I walked, a little part of my chest hurt, knowing that I’d originally wanted to go to Reina—the beautiful Ivy League university that rose on top of the hill as if it were looking downand judging us. Reina had a better veterinary sciences program, better everything, really. But it didn’t have Blake Samson, and when I received my acceptance letters, that had been all that mattered to me. Although people thought I was “slutty and stupid” (a teacher at my boarding school had even called me that once), I was neither. I’d had perfect grades and SAT scores, and I was academically ambitious.
If it weren’t for Leslie’s friendship, I would’ve regretted my decision. As it was, my chest ached a little when I thought about it.
But it was fine.
Everything was fine.
I stared at my phone, playing with the ends of my long, blonde, wavy hair, letting 9 a.m. become 9:01, then 9:02.
Finally, at 9:07, I sauntered into the administration building, up the stairs to the athletics department, past the assistant coach as he called after me, “Lucy, why are you always late? He’s going to be—” and pushed the door open to Coach Samson’s office without knocking.
“You know, it is customary to wait for an invitation to enter someone’s space,” Coach said dryly as I crossed my arms and tilted my head back to stare up at him.
Even though I was 5’7”, he towered over me…like he had when I was a little kid with a crush.
Don’t think about that,I scolded myself.
“Why? I’m not a vampire,” I shot back.
“Sit,” he said, nodding to a chair in front of his big desk. A desk I’d fantasized about bending over more than once.
Ugh.
I hated that Leslie was right.
“I think I’ll stand,” I said.
He shrugged. “If these little moments of rebellion bring you joy, who am I to challenge them?”
Motherfucker.
I sat.
He laughed.
Damn it, how did he always manipulate me so easily?
He kept laughing, low in his throat, as I tried not to stare. His dark hair always fell over one eye, and I was always tempted to brush it back—like I’m sure every other person he came into contact with thought about doing. Coach had chiseled cheekbones, a flat nose, big dark eyes with obnoxiously long lashes, and a full mouth. He was still the giant he’d always been, easily 6’6”, broad and muscular, dominating every space he entered and swallowing up all the air in the room. He looked like Captain America…if Captain America was always picturing ways to kill you.
