Coach Me

“Why did you choose BU?”

It takes him a moment to respond. His gaze remains ahead. “Because I knew I deserved to be there just as much as the rest of them. I’m good at what I do. I’m a great coach. I received a lot of recognition as a coach even prior to joining BU.” He pauses. “There are just some people who are ignorant to that kind of recognition. They don’t care how good you are, they just take one look at you and feel you don’t belong—that you’ll never belong.”

“Like Foster?” My voice is even smaller.

He turns his head and his eyes lock right on mine, then he narrows them.

“I, um…I heard what you said to Foster the day of the relay race. I was looking for the bathroom and I overheard you telling her to stay away from me.”

Torres pulls his eyes away and his throat bobs as he swallows. The tunnel changes colors, going from green and blue to purple and red. “And she hasn’t bothered you since, has she?”

“Not at all. She won’t even look my way.”

“Good.”

I look down at the hand that’s on top of his thigh and place mine on top of it. His body tenses.

“I appreciate what you said to her, and for having my back.”

His head turns, but his eyes don’t meet mine. For a moment, I think he’s going to snatch his hand away and go back to the old Torres. From how his brows dip and his lips get tighter, I worry that he may be angry.

But I’m wrong.

What I don’t expect is for him to pull his hand away, only to turn mine over and clasp it in his. His hand is big and warm and completely covers mine.

I slide closer to him without even realizing it, dropping the orange dragon on the wet bottom of the boat.

Wait.

What in the hell is this? What am I doing? What are we doing?

My knees are touching his. His cologne is all consuming, filling up every single one of my senses. I turn my body just enough to lean toward him. He doesn’t move—like he wants me to make the first move. Does he?

I study his eyes. His lips. The stubble on his sharp jaw and chin. All the noise from the boat ride is muffled. None of the monsters or ghouls matter. I feel no fear right now. I only feel longing. Desire.

I lean forward, closer, closer, and he meets me halfway, and before I know it, his hand has cupped the back of my head and we’re kissing. I’m pawing at his shirt and he’s clutching a handful of my hair in his hand. This kiss is deep and aggressive, but his lips are so smooth and warm, and they devour me whole.

I can’t think about anything else but his mouth on mine, his fingers in my hair, my chest pressing to his. I become greedy and manage to climb on his lap as he twists his knees for more space. The boat rocks unsteadily, and I don’t care if we end up tipping over. Not even that will stop me from having more of him.

I moan, reckless as my tongue slips between his lips and I taste the flavor of orange on his breath. I rock on his lap and he wraps his warm hand around the back of my neck, keeping me close, and tasting my mouth too.

It’s almost too much for me—the way he touches me. The way he keeps me steady. He groans and I moan as I slide a hand under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin and his chiseled abdomen. My hands skim up to his chest, then shoots up to the collar of his T-shirt, lightly closing around his throat. The kiss deepens.

He then releases a guttural groan, tugs on my hair, and breaks the kiss.

“What are we doing?” he breathes raggedly. His lips are red and swollen and his dark eyes hooded, filled with lust.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, still dazed. The boat bumps into the edge of a wall and we rock and sway. I suddenly feel dizzy. It didn’t even occur to me that he is my coach. I just kissed him—like I was supposed to do it. What is wrong with me?

I pull away and sit back down where I belong. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” I breathe.

Torres turns his body forward, and as he does, he adjusts his shirt, then runs his fingers through his messy hair. The end of the tunnel is near, and we don’t say a thing.

We sit in silence, waiting for the boat ride to be over, but it takes forever for the boat to rock its way toward the gates.

When we’re finally at the end of the tunnel and close to the gates, the bright lights shine on us, and we are no longer in the dark. It’s like all our secrets have come to light and we are exposed and my heart beats like a drum.