Coach's Daughter

It seems to cause Eric physical pain to roll off me and stand. Immediately, he pulls me to my feet as well, rocking me side to side in the cradle of his arms, his chin resting on top of my head. “Do I get my chance with you, Greta?” he asks, gruffly.

It’s no mystery that I’m as stubborn as they come, but I can’t help but want to give this man what he’s asking for. He took my concerns into account and adapted. He compromised…and I really like that. So I find myself nodding into his chest, letting him fix my clothing and smooth my hair. He brings me into the small bathroom and holds a hand towel soaked in cool water to my neck, kissing me on the forehead. And then he takes my hand and walks with me out of the private box, looking my father right in the eye as we pass, his expression communicating one thing and one thing only.

Mine.

Chapter Five

Eric

Greta arrives at my doorstep late that night. On purpose. That much is clear. She might be bending her own rules, but she’s making it known—loud and clear—that she’s at my home on her own terms. And Jesus Christ, the bratty look she gives me when she steps out of her little pink sports car makes my cock hard.

The goddamn thing has been stiff as a pike since I signed the contract this afternoon and she breathed a sigh of relief. Surprise, too. That I put my signature on the dotted line without forcing her into marriage.

She doesn’t need to know I signed the wrong name.

Coach Welding was so glad to have it done that he didn’t check, either, shoving the documents back into the file and crowing about future championships to the gathered press. Maybe no one will ever need to know about the phony signature. It’s possible that I’ll win Greta entirely on my own and won’t need to point out the contract was never truly signed, but there is no way I would leave something so important to chance. This girl is the breath in my lungs. If her stubborn streak prevents us from being together, I’ll have to show her mine.

When she stops in front of me at the front door, the light, crushed berries scent teasing my nose, I do encounter a flash of regret that I’ve duped her. She believes I’m a better man—and I will be. I will be as soon as I know she’s staying.

Permanently.

“Hi Eric,” she says, haltingly, her nervous tone totally at odds with the haughty set to her chin. This girl is going to be a handful. I knew this the moment I saw her, but I’m reminded now. Not only because she’s got a temper. Not only because she is stubborn as hell, but because she’s got a tender heart lurking beneath her beautiful surface—the kind that could gut a man for all its vulnerabilities. She’s trying to put me on the defensive by showing up late. Trying to act like she’s in charge, but the truth is, she’s feeling exposed. Her fingers are trembling around the handle of her overnight bag and her shoulders are tensed in the vicinity of her ears.

That’s when I notice the textbook sticking out of her bag.

Sports medicine.

“What’s that?” I ask, nodding at it.

She follows my line of sight. “In case you bore me and I need to study.”

My laughter cracks and she smiles slyly, all while I make a mental note to check into private tutoring for the times she’ll be with me on the road. Female tutoring. “Studying, huh?” I take the bag out of her hands, tipping my head toward the open entrance so she’ll precede me. “Never really considered this dilemma.”

“Which dilemma?”

I follow after her into the house, salivating over the twitch of her buns beneath the short, white pleated skirt. God, if I don’t get her beneath me soon, I’m going to blow. “Who disciplines you for a bad grade now, when you haven’t agreed to marry me yet? Me or Rick?”

She sends me a sniff over her smooth shoulder. “I discipline myself just fine, thank you.”

“Is that right?” We stop in the foyer, coming toe to toe, making it necessary for Greta to tip her head back, and I’m momentarily struck speechless by having her here, looking so beautiful in my home. It was just another four walls until she walked in. “How do you do discipline yourself?”

“When I get a bad grade, I force myself to watch basketball.”

Again, my laughter catches me off guard, ricocheting off the white, Spanish-style interior of the house and I close in on Greta, setting down her bag, my hands settling on her hips. Squeezing. Circling around to her butt and gripping it tight on both sides beneath her skirt, kneading the taut flesh, watching her mouth fall open on a gasp. “I’ll make you a bet.”