When he opens his eyes, they're dark with something that makes my breath catch. The same look I've been fantasizing about for months—like he wants to devour me whole.
"You're eighteen years old," he says, but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than me.
"I am." I lift his mug, deliberately placing my lips exactly where his were, and take a slow sip. His coffee tastes like him somehow—dark and rich and a little bitter. I let my tongue trace the rim before setting it back down. "And you're thirty-seven. I looked you up."
"Jesus, Taryn." He grips his temples like he's fighting a headache. Or fighting himself.
"I know exactly what I'm doing, Coach." I let my thumb stroke across his knuckles, just once. "The question is... do you?"
The warning bell rings, signaling five minutes until first period officially starts. Neither of us moves to break the connection.
"We can't do this here," he says finally, voice low and rough. I can see the cords in his neck standing out, tense with restraint.
"Then where?" The question is out before I can stop it, bold and reckless and completely unlike the responsible girl everyone thinks I am.
His eyes go dark. "Taryn..."
"I'm serious." I lean closer, lowering my voice to match his. "I meant what I said yesterday. I'm tired of being strong all the time. I'm tired of being the adult. For once in my life, I want someone else to make the decisions."
"You don't know what you're asking for."
"Don't I?" I squeeze his hand gently. "I've been thinking about it all night, Coach. About what it would feel like to let go. To trust someone else to catch me when I fall."
He stares at me for a long second, and I can see the exact moment his resolve starts to crack. The moment the man wins out over the professional.
"After school," he says quietly. "My office. We'll... talk."
I smile, feeling victorious and terrified in equal measure. "Just talk?"
"That depends on whether you can follow directions."
The bell rings, officially starting first period, but neither of us moves to break the connection. His thumb brushes across my knuckles, and I swear I can feel that touch everywhere.
"I’m heading to the little girls’ room," I say. “Freshen up… And give you a moment to gather your thoughts.”
"Yeah." He doesn't look away from me. "Gather my thoughts."
I head for the door, then pause with my hand on the handle. "Coach?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For not treating me like a kid."
His jaw tightens. "You're not a kid, Taryn. That's the problem. But something tells me, you’d like to act like a kid sometimes. I think you weren’t allowed enough of that in your life."
The words are serious, and they hit me harder than I expect. For a second, I’m frozen, feeling like he just reached right inside me and plucked out a truth I hadn’t even known was there. Then I lick my lips, nod, and turn away, feeling his eyes on my ass in the regulation-breaking skirt.
I leave with the sense that something inside me is changing. Students chatter and move around me like a flood around a stone.
A flicker of something low and hopeful warms my heart. I have no idea what I've just started, but for the first time in years, I'm not thinking about consequences. I'm not planning three steps ahead or worrying about what could go wrong.
For once, I'm just letting myself want something.
And what I want is Coach Murphy Reynolds.
Game on.
CHAPTER 3
