Possessive Coach

“Nothing,” I snap as I head to the door. “Tutoring’s canceled.”

“Hold on, I, uh, actually need help today,” he says, a little panic in his eyes.

“I’ll help you,” Melody speaks up. “We were just finishing up.”

“But—”

I move past Charles and head out the door. Nobody says anything as I storm down the hallway, anger raging through me.

I don’t think about what I’m doing. I should maybe slow down and consider my next move, but I find the stairs again and take them two at a time. My steps echo in the concrete space, the metal railing cold under my touch. I reach the ground floor, head back through the lobby, past the elevators, down the hall with the weird poster about magic, and turn right to head toward the football wing of the building.

I slow down as I reach the locker room. It’s quiet and empty, the benches reflecting the light that filters in through the high windows. I continue on down the hall, past a couple of dark training rooms with low massage tables and white painted metal cabinets. I come to a row of offices, one a bit larger than the others, with a long window that overlooks the locker room through the open double doors to my left. I continue on, past two more offices, and stop at the end. Straight ahead is a door that leads into the showers, and to the right is the last office with the words ‘Assistant Coach’ printed in black on a sticker plastered to the front.

It’s closed, so I knock twice. I hear someone call out from inside, so I push the door open and find David. His office is cramped, covered in books, tapes, and paperwork. The bookshelves are crammed, and the filing cabinets are almost overflowing. He has his feet up on his metal tanker desk and is drinking from a Coke bottle. A small TV on my right is playing some old CU game.

“Chloe,” he says, leaning forward. He shuts the game off and puts the Coke down on top of his desk. The desk is almost empty except for a book with a bunch of squiggles and lines inside of it, probably the playbook, and a black laptop. “What are you doing here?”

I take the banner from under my arm and unfurl it. I lay it across his desk and he stares at it for a long moment.

“Where did you get this?” he asks softly.

“It was hung inside the tutoring room,” I say. “Can you imagine walking into a room and seeing that? Nobody took it down, David. They just fucking left it there.”

Rage fills me again. I have to clench my jaw to keep from crying. He stares at the banner on his desk then slowly stands up. He comes around toward me and I take a step back.

“He did this,” I say. “You know it.”

“I know,” he agrees. He steps closer and I let him pull me against his muscular chest. He smells like sugar and tea, a strange mixture, but I finally let out a little sob. I feel so stupid and pathetic, but the violation and anger is even worse. He holds me tight until I manage to calm down enough to pull away and look at him.

“What the hell am I going to do?”

“I’m taking that to Coach,” he says, looking back at the banner. “He can’t ignore it.”

“What will that do?” I press. “He won’t stop. Erik’s just going to keep pushing until he gets what he wants.”

David moves away from me, his body tense. “He wants me to react,” he says. “That’s the whole game here. He wants me to react, to do something stupid, so he can use that against me. This is all about retaliating for that night.”

“We can’t just let him keep doing this,” I say, feeling desperate and stupid. “It’s embarrassing. It’s terrifying.”

“I won’t,” he says, picking up the banner and staring at it. “Hardy can’t ignore this.”

“And what happens when he does?”

He hesitates. “Then I’ll do something about it.”

I stand there, staring at him, and he turns back. He’s wearing a black polo shirt, and his muscular arms look incredible as he tenses and steps back toward me. He pulls me close and laces his fingers through my hair, pulling my chin back. He kisses me softly, just lips, then moves back to whisper in my ear. “You’re mine, Chloe,” he growls. “I won’t let this fucker keep messing with you. I promise, I’m going to hurt him. I’m going to make him stop.”

“I believe you,” I say.

He kisses me again, slower, deeper, but breaks off after a moment. “You should go,” he says.

I nod once, feeling dizzy with need for him. “Yeah. I should.” I turn and head to his door. “You have a terrible office, by the way.”