Page 3 of Stalked By the Coach

A shiver runs down my spine as I imagine what it would feel like to have his hands roam my body, his lips trailing kisses along my heated skin. My breaths come faster, shallow and wanting. I can almost feel the delicious ache between my legs, the emptiness only he can fill.

Sucking in a breath, I force the thoughts from my mind. I have a strict training regime to follow, goals to achieve. There's no room for distractions. No matter how much my body may crave his, I have to stay focused. I won't let anything get in the way of my dreams.

Not even the one thing I want most in this world.

* * *

I walk into the kitchen, the aroma of charcoal and sizzling beef hitting me like a wave. My stomach rumbles in response, reminding me I haven't eaten since this morning's practice.

Dad stands at the grill, tongs in hand, flipping burgers with practiced ease. His graying hair is ruffled from the breeze, face creased in a smile as he greets me. "There's my girl! Hungry?"

"Starving," I admit, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. The chill liquid soothes my parched throat, quenching a thirst even the longest shower couldn't satisfy.

Mom comes up behind me, wrapping me in a hug. Her floral perfume envelops me in its familiar embrace. "How was practice today?"

Excitement bubbles up inside me like champagne, the words spilling forth in a rush. "Coach says I'm improving by leaps and bounds. If I keep up this progress, he thinks I have a real shot at making the Olympic trials!"

Dad's eyes light up with pride as Mom clasps her hands together, eyes shining. "Oh, sweetheart, that's wonderful! We always knew you had the talent and determination. You're going to do such great things."

"But the competition will be fierce," I say, trying to temper their enthusiasm with a dose of reality. As much as I want to believe Coach's words, there are no guarantees. I can't let myself get distracted by false hopes or—

My gaze drifts to the window, peering into the gathering dusk. Somewhere out there, Coach is going about his evening. Does he think of me the way I think of him? Do I cross his mind when he's alone in the dark, desire burning through his veins like wildfire?

A flush creeps up my neck at the forbidden thoughts, heat pooling low in my belly. I squeeze my thighs together, willing my treacherous body to obey. But it only makes the ache worse, an emptiness I can't ignore.

An emptiness onlyhecan fill.

Mom touches my arm, brow furrowed with concern. “Sweetie, are you feeling okay? You look flushed.”

I jerk away from her touch, pulse racing. How could I have let my guard down like that? One careless slip and they'll suspect the truth—that their little girl is obsessed with a man nearly twice her age.

“Just tired from practice,” I mumble, avoiding their gaze. My hands curl into fists, short nails biting into my palms. The sting helps ground me in the present, a reminder of who I am. Not some lovesick schoolgirl, but an athlete with dreams bigger than any crush.

Dad's voice rumbles with warmth and affection. “Why don't you go take a hot shower and relax? Your mom and I can handle dinner tonight.”

“I'm fine,” I insist, summoning a smile. “Coach says recovery is just as important as training. I'll eat, do some light stretching and get an early night.”

Another lie. The only thing I'll be doing tonight is thinking of Coach Thompson, replaying every moment we've shared. His hands guiding my form, breath hot against my neck...

I grit my teeth against the memories, nails breaking skin. Pain shields me where willpower fails, a barrier between temptation and surrender.

Because giving in would mean losing everything I've worked for. Not to mention the fact that there's no way he's interested in me. I'm way too young for him. He'd probably think I'm just harboring a silly schoolgirl crush. And no matter how much I ache for his touch, my dreams will always come first.

Mom's eyes soften with understanding. “We're always here if you want to talk, sweetheart. About your training, your goals...or anything else. You can tell us anything.”

If only that were true. I force a smile and duck my head, hiding the turmoil behind a veil of blonde hair.

“I know. But right now, I just need to focus on my running.”

It's the only truth I have left.

* * *

That night, I pace my room as moonlight filters through the window, shadows dancing across the walls. Thoughts of Coach Thompson torment me, desires I can't ignore and shouldn't feel.

I shouldn't want my coach like this. It's wrong, unethical— but that doesn't stop my body from burning at the memory of his touch. The way his hands mold around my waist as he teaches me form, breath hot against my neck, muscles flexing beneath his shirt...

A groan slips free, and I slam a fist against the wall, pain clearing my mind. I can't keep doing this, torn between what I want and what I know is right. If I don't end this now, I'll lose everything—my dreams, my future, myself.

---