Possessive Coach

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “Honestly, I just want to put this behind me and move on.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Look, thanks for what you did back there. Watching you hit him felt really good.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I’m not even into that macho man thing, but when you punched him in the face for me, it was like…”

“It felt good to watch that smug asshole get punched,” I say.

“Exactly. Yeah.” She meets my eyes for a moment and bites her lip. Both of us linger closer, and I’m tempted to reach out and touch her. I just want her to know that she’s not alone, and that she’ll be okay.

But I pull away. It’s not the time, far from the time. “Look, take my phone number,” I say. “If you want to talk or whatever, just text or call. Any time.”

“It’s not necessary. I’m really fine, honestly.”

“Take it anyway.”

She sighs, takes out of her phone, and types in my number. She calls me so I have her number and tilts her head again.

“Thanks, Coach Fyall,” she says.

I wince. “God, please. Call me David.”

“Okay.” She smiles. “David.”

“Go on up. I’ll see you again later.”

She nods, unlocks the door, and heads inside. I wait to make sure the door shuts behind her before I turn back and start walking toward campus.

I take the long way. I go down Maple and swing right onto Tennis, walking along a block of bungalows. They’re probably all worth millions at this point, but them of them are looking pretty worse for the wear. Their wide roofs and tile shingles are immaculately kept, and the lawns tend to be well trimmed. Bushes line the sidewalk and it’s clear the people that live in this area take pride in their homes, but I can barely see any of that right now.

My mind’s working a mile a minute. Chloe clearly just wants to let this go, just wants to move on her with her life, and I can’t blame her. The idea of pressing charges or getting involved with the police probably scares the hell out of her. Erik Pacific is untouchable right now.

And yet I touched him. I hit him hard, right in his fucking smug face. I might pay for that, but right now, I’m still too angry to care.

Nobody should treat a woman like that. Even if he was just scaring her, even if he was just angry that she told him to fuck off, that was way too far. No man should ever put his hands on a woman.

I can’t let it go. As I turn away from the bungalows and head back toward the lights of campus, toward the athletics building and my late-night game tape, I know I have to do something.

I’m not the kind of man to turn my back and pretend like it never happened.2ChloeWhen Erik shoved me, I thought I was about to die.

Not from the push itself. No, it was the look in his eye as he touched me, like he wanted to rip my head off. And I think he could’ve done it, too.

It was the scariest moment of my life.

I knew he was an entitled asshole. That much was obvious. I’d been tutoring him for the last few weeks in math, and he was more interested in hitting on me than he was on the work. But I figured that was just part of his personality, and since he really did seem to need the help, I’d go out of my way to help him.

It wasn’t until he tried to kiss me in his apartment that I knew I made a terrible mistake.

“You seem distracted,” Sara says as we walk to class together. It’s a beautiful afternoon on CU’s campus, and I glance over at the little cluster of bushes where Erik had grabbed my wrists and looked at me like he wanted to kill me just the night before. Throngs of students walk past, carrying backpacks, pushing skateboards, walking bikes. A cluster of girls wearing white tops over bathing suits nearly collides with us, laughing with each other.

“Sorry,” I say, shooting the girls a dirty look. “Thinking about something.”

“Yeah?” She grins at me, gets closer. “Was it your study session with Erik?”

I wince a little bit. “No,” I say. “He’s an asshole.”

She tilts her head. She has short dirty blonde hair and wide brown eyes. She always wears clothes a little too big for her, even though she has a killer body. She’d rather be surfing than anything else, but she’s a sweet girl and incredibly nice. We’ve been friends since freshman year when we lived in the dorms together. Now we’re both seniors and still live together, which says a lot about how well we get along. “What’d he do?” she asks.

“Just keeps coming on to me,” I say. “And I’m not into it.”