Coach Daddy (Dark Daddies 3)

“I’d buy a house,” I say almost wistfully. “Something modest, you know? Something with reasonable taxes, so I can buy it in cash and never have to worry about being homeless.”

“Smart girl,” Tessa says, nudging me. “You should be a financial advisor to these guys.”

“God, no,” I say, laughing. “Those guys are as bad as the agents.”

“The agents are almost as bad as the players themselves.” She sighs, finishing her stack of towels and putting it over on the shelf. “There are just too many egos in this whole thing.”

“What about the coaches?” I ask, trying to sound innocent.

“They’re okay,” she admits. “Some of them, at least. The younger ones can be assholes.”

“Coach Wood?”

She gives me a look. “He’s a decent guy. No wife or girlfriend.” She gets a little mischievous look. “You thinking about trying to sneak in there?”

“No thanks,” I say. “He’s twice my age.”

“So, what? He makes bank and I bet he could take care of you. Spoil you a little bit.”

“Not what I’m after.”

“Your loss,” she says, shrugging. “Anyway, I gotta go tape some ankles. See you later.”

I nod as she leaves and go back to my pile. I’m almost finished, but I’m taking my time.

It’s Thursday and practice ended an hour ago. Now it’s just general maintenance stuff, cleaning up, and my day is over.

Except I wish it weren’t. I haven’t heard from Cole since the end of the game on Sunday. I mean, I’ve seen him around, but he hasn’t called me in for a massage or even said a word to me.

I know I shouldn’t be feel jealous or jilted or whatever, since we’re not together. He doesn’t owe me anything.

But we were so close to kissing, inches away. And that weirdo Atlas came in and ruined everything.

I sigh, tossing my towels to the side. I’m finished with the stack, so I walk it over to the shelf, putting them beside the stack Tessa just did.

I hear someone clear their throat. “Baths are open if you’re looking for one,” I call out without turning. That’s why most guys come to this training room around this time, anyway.

“Think I need one?”

I look over at Cole, leaning against the doorframe.

I smile, my heart leaping. “Maybe,” I say. “You did work up a sweat out there.”

He barks a laugh. “Hardly. No, that’s for the young guys.”

“You’re still young,” I say awkwardly.

He laughs again, this time stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. He pushes the lock down on the handle, cocking his head.

“You think I’m young? Or are you just trying to find something to say?”

I grin a little uncertainly, my heart beating faster. “Something to say,” I admit.

“Thought so. It’s better to be older, actually.” He walks toward me. I turn to him, leaning against the counter, my hands gripping the edge.

“Why’s that?”

“Experience,” he says. “You start to see things more clearly. You don’t get caught up in the pettiness.”

“You’re above it all?” I ask.

He grins. “No, not really. But we old folk have to come up with something to help us sleep at night.”

I laugh softly. He stops in front of me, arms crossed over his chest, head cocked.

“How are you feeling?” I ask him, nodding at his leg.

“Not too bad,” he says. “Been doing those exercises you gave me.”

“Every night?”

“Every night,” he confirms. “Even though I don’t want to.”

“Good. Is that why you haven’t called me in for a massage?”

He glances away. “Well. Not exactly.”

“Oh.” I look at the floor, not sure what to say.

“I’ve been meaning to,” he says finally. “It’s just, this season.”

“I get it.”

I look back up at him and I can see the struggle on his face. I don’t understand it, but I feel that same struggle. We barely know each other, and have barely even touched, aside from the day he got me off.

And yet there’s this attraction. We both know it’s there. We both feel it. I know what he wants, and I know I want the same thing.

I just can’t explain it. I can’t understand it. There’s this intensity, this magnetism. And a strange comfort, like we’ve been doing this for years, this back and forth, when it’s barely been months.

He eyes me, stepping closer.

“I don’t think you do.”

“You’re stressed. Under pressure.”

“It’s not just that.”

I bite my lip, looking up at him. “What is it, then?”

“It’s you,” he says softly. He puts his hands on my hips and I don’t move. I can feel my body getting pulled toward him, like I need to press myself closer.

“What about me?”

“I should be spending my days and nights studying tape, thinking about tactics… instead, I’m thinking about you.”

“What can we do about that?”

The words come out quickly, before I can even think about them. I can’t believe I’m being so freaking bold, but there’s something about this magnetism between us that’s making me want more.