Page 47 of Forbidden

She pulls a face. “Why?”

“Why you?” I ask, and her eyes widen a little. She has no idea I overheard them that day and there’s no way for me to call her out about it without seeming like a creep, so I haven’t said a word. “Let me,” I try again. “I can catch up faster with my shoes.”

She rolls her eyes and I know I’ve got her. I also don’t want her running around the streets at one in the morning, but if I’d said that, she’d have kicked my ass. If there’s one benefit of having three sisters, it’s that I know how to avoid making a woman angry. For the most part.

I glance at Doug as I move away, but he’s staring at a spot on the table with narrowed eyes. Shaking my head, I leave them behind, trying to spot Coach’s blond hair in the crowd up ahead.

Tonight, has been weird as hell. Ignoring the constant tension between Coach Masters and Joy, Doug’s behavior has more than caught my attention. Since the moment of weakness in his office, he’s kept his distance, which I’m glad of because, if he pushed, I’m not sure I could say no. But tonight, he was different. More relaxed than I’ve seen him all year. And flirting with Joy.

I thought I’d imagined it at first, but when he joined us on the dance floor, his little touches and winks were hard to miss. But then he went and became the world’s biggest asshole. It should be enough to kill any lingering feelings I have for him, but I know it’s a front. It’s all just part of the Doug Show. He thinks he can keep people at a distance with his ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude, but it doesn’t work on me.

Joy’s words, on the other hand.Just friends. I know she said she doesn’t want a relationship, but she barely took a breath before dismissing everything that’s happened between us. Maybe I’m wasting my time. But I can be on board with just fun. After all, isn’t that one of the reasons I broke things off with Doug?

I spot the back of Coach’s head moving toward the exit and speed up, squeezing through a huge, giggling bachelorette party with muttered apologies, but by the time I step out into the cold night air, I’ve lost him.

Rubbing my hands together, I peer up and down the street through my cloud of breath, trying to see where he’s stormed off to. Honestly, I’m impressed he didn’t punch Doug. It’s a good thing most of the team left ages ago. I think a couple are left in the club somewhere, but I haven’t seen them for a while, so I can’t be sure.

I shove my hands in my pockets and walk over to one of the guys working the door. “Excuse me. Have you seen an angry looking blond guy storming out of here in the last few minutes?”

The guy is easily three times as wide as me, and I can’t tell under his thick coat how much of it is muscle. He squints at me, then jerks his chin to the left. “That way.”

I thank him and head up the street. There’s a chance it’s not Coach, but it’s all I have to go on. There’s not much open at this time of night, and I peer into the window of a pizza place, crammed with loud drunks, but he’s not there. A coffee place boasting live music in the evenings is just locking up as I pass, so that’s a no go, too. There’s a chance he got a cab to head home, but I get the feeling he would have walked for a while first, to blow off steam. Hell, he might even just circle the block and come back.

I’m about to give up and head back when I spot him walking through a doorway on the next block. Picking up the pace, I jog across the road, finding myself outside The Hidey Hole. If it wasn’t for the bouncer standing outside and the sound of music spilling out onto the street, I wouldn’t have known it was a club. I suppose that’s how it got its name.

Glancing at the string of rainbow flags adorning the inconspicuous doorway, I give the bouncer a brief nod before heading inside.

It might not look much from the outside, but the place is heaving. A small flight of stairs leads down into the club and as I descend, grimacing at the sticky railing, I scan the crowd for Coach. Two small bars stand at each end of the club, but most of the space is taken up by a massive dance floor, and if the flags hadn’t been a clue, the heaving mass of shirtless men, grinding together on the dance floor would have been a big fucking hint. There are a few women dotted around, but they’re far and few between as I pause just before the bottom step to give me a better vantage point.

“Keep moving, darlin’,” a voice comes from behind me. “You’re causing a bottleneck.”

I apologize without turning, left with no choice but to move down into the club, and head toward the bar. Surely, that’s where he would have gone first. He didn’t dance the entire time we were at the Bluebell. Or at least, not that I saw.

I order a shot, and in the time it takes to arrive and for me to knock it back, I’m hit on four times. If I ever need an ego boost, I know where to come. Politely declining another set of appreciative eyes, I order two more shots.

At the Bluebell I was pretty buzzed but jogging along the cold streets has sobered me up completely. And after the shit show this night has turned into, I don’t want to be sober.

Leaning back against the bar, I peer through the crowd trying to see where he might be. There’s a chance he went to the bathroom, so I keep an eye in that direction even as I continue to scan the club.

My attention falls on three guys all but fucking on the dance floor as they writhe to the music. The one in the middle has his head resting on the guy behind’s shoulders, his eyes closed as though he’s having the best time of his life. I smirk. He might be.

When we were in the club, I was dancing with Joy when Doug joined us. Taking the spot behind Joy, he barely looked at me, which stung a little, but I get it. I hurt him. He’ll never admit it, but I know I did. Doug McMann has probably never been told no. Even so, the few times I did manage to catch his eye, the heat there stole my breath. I think of Joy between us and my mind conjures images of the three of us, my hands joining his as we bring her to the edge. Joy taking both of us.Fuck.I blink, turning back to the bar to discretely adjust myself. Maybe three shots was a bad idea.

Turning back to the dance floor, I’m about to give up, when I spot him. He’s almost right in the center, and I have to rise onto my toes to find him again, only getting glimpses as people move around him.

Getting out my phone, I send Joy a text to let her know I’ve found him and that I’ll try and convince him to come back. I wait until it’s been delivered then turn back to the dance floor and brace myself.

I’m still not sure why Coach Masters is in here, and as I wind my way toward him through sweaty limbs, trying not to make eye contact, I don’t know why he didn’t just go home. But whatever I thought I might find when I reached him, it . . . well, it isn’t this.

I stop dead, getting knocked into on all sides, as I watch Coach dancing with a beefy, bearded guy who looks ready to eat him alive. Not that I can blame him. Coach is hot. And dancing Coach is even hotter. The guy has moves and I wonder why he didn’t come and dance with us earlier. Probably because of Doug. I groan inwardly. I might have to try and talk to him, even though he’ll probably tell me to fuck off. Maybe Joy would have better luck.

The beardy man grabs Coach’s hips and turns him, grinding against his ass as his fingers slide up over his stomach and my mouth runs dry. Even though what they’re doing is no different to what anyone else around us is doing, I feel like I’m watching something I shouldn’t. The fact that he hasn’t seen me yet doesn’t help.

Realizing I’m just standing like a pervert in the middle of the dance floor, I make a half-hearted attempt at dancing, but I can’t take my eyes off Coach and the guy he’s with. The man’s hands are fully roaming over Coach’s torso, his shirt lifted enough to expose his abs, and he doesn’t seem to mind.

Taking a breath, I move in front of him, wary of interrupting whatever the fuck is going on. Coach doesn’t look happy, though. Now I can see his face, his eyes are closed but not in a blissed-out way. He looks almost pained.

“Coach,” I say loud enough to be heard over the music.

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