Page 104 of The Coach

I glance down at myself—sweatpants, no shirt, still cooling off from my workout, lowkey.

“Drinking a beer.”

“That’s it?”

I smirk. She walked right into that one.

“Well,” I say slowly, voice dipping lower. “I was thinking about you.”

She goes silent.

But I hear it—the sharp inhale, the slight hitch in her breath.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” I let my head drop back against the couch. Loving the way her voice has shifted, softened. “Want to know what I was thinking?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me either way.”

I grin. “Damn right.”

And just like that—the air between us thickens.

She knows it. I know it.

Because I can hear her breathing a little harder.

Because my sweatpants are feeling tighter.

Because no matter how much I tell myself to focus on football—this woman is in my fucking head.

And I don’t want her to leave it.

I let the silence stretch, playing with the tension.

I can hear the way her breath changes.

Quieter. Shallower. She’s picturing it just like I am.

“I was thinking about your legs,” I say finally, my voice rougher now. “Wrapped around me.”

I hear the smallest hitch in her breath.

“Oh?”

I smirk, stretching back into the couch. “Yeah.”

Her voice is lighter now. Teasing. “That all?”

Oh, she wants to play?

I drag a hand down my chest, my fingers absently brushing the waistband of my sweatpants.

“No.”

She’s completely silent now. Waiting.

“You want to know what else I was thinking?”

---