Page 5 of The Coach

I clean her up and toss the rag near my laundry before tucking us under the blankets. She stares at me for a moment and smiles softly. “I should get going.”

I shake my head, my brows furrowing. “Stay, please.”

Mick looks at me contemplatively. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I reply, not leaving room for discussion.

She cuddles into my side, and I sigh softly, enjoying the content feeling that settles over us. I grab her hand on my chest and frown a bit at the red mark from where I held her.

“Are you okay?” I lift her wrist to my mouth, kissing the skin softly before rubbing the spot gently.

Her head lifts, and her brown and gold eyes drill into mine. She looks at me like I’m foreign, like she doesn’t know what to think about me. A shake of her head, and she chuckles softly. “I’m absolutely perfect.”

With that, she drifts off slowly, and I lie there, wondering what the hell I did to deserve a perfect night with a woman who got me after only knowing me for a few short hours.

two

MICK

Something pings in my dream, waking me from the coma of the slumber I was in. My hand reaches out to my nightstand, searching for what I’m sure is my phone alarm alerting me that I have exactly twenty-three minutes to get to class.

I was far from the girl who got up and got ready in the morning for class. I had zero desire to look pretty to study.

My arm hits something hard, and I freeze. My fingers roam over the hard, slightly…hairy surface, and I snatch my hand back, sitting up in bed and finally cracking my eyes open to see what my mind suddenly knows.

I went home with the stranger from the bar.

When my blurry eyesight clears, I’m right on the money with who it is—Tanner, the hot stranger who bought me dinner—even though I insisted he didn’t have to—and talked with me all night.

Sighing, I realize it’s not even a surprise that I allowed myself to have a night with him. It’s not often I can have a decent conversation with someone, someone who makes me laugh and can talk hockey without them pissing me off.

Tanner doesn’t move from his spot, even after I’ve felt him up. His wide chest is on full display, and the muscles that run along his arms tell me the guy is as fit as I remember.

My cheeks heat as last night comes back to me.

Last night was…amazing.

Flashes of it filter through my mind like a slideshow. I thank God I wasn’t drunk, because I’m going to remember that for the rest of my life.

Gingerly, I slip out of the bed, my feet hitting the cool hardwood floor, and look around. I have no idea where I am.

Making it to my class in now—I find my phone on the floor next to my jeans where it must have fallen out of the pocket and glance at the screen—twenty minutes is going to be tough.

I’m quiet as I reach for my clothes, trying to remember where my shirt was after snapping on my bra. I retrace my memory from last night.

Us bursting into his place, him pinning me against the wall and kissing the hell out of me, his hands sliding under my shirt and pulling it up and over my head.

Him pulling my bra down until my breasts spilled out, and him—ahem. I shake my head at the memory and hurry to the living room. It’s big and open. Bright and airy.

A very nice, expensive place.

Frowning, I try to recall what Tanner does for a living until I realize that he never told me.

How did we not cover that?

I find my shirt slung over the back of his leather couch and snatch it up, quickly throwing it back on.

Shoes…shoes…I find one over near the kitchen and the other wedged under his fridge. When did that happen?

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