Page 113 of The Coach

I exhale slowly, my pulse skipping.

A surprise?

My fingers hover over the keyboard before I finally type back.

Me: Should I be worried?

Jackson: Nope. Just be ready when I pick you up from the train

Me: Not a problem.

Jackson: And wear something…fashionable.

Me: Fashionable?

Jackson: Yes. You always look pretty, but something fashionable.

A thrill runs through me, warm and giddy and impossible to ignore.

I stare out the window, the skyline of Chicago starting to emerge in the distance.

This man. This life.

What the hell am I doing?

I don’t know.

But for once?

I don’t need to.

All I know is I can’t wait to see him, too.

I pull out the dress I brought and head to the train bathroom to put it on.

The train slows as it pulls into Union Station, the steady rhythm of travel giving way to the bustle of passengers shifting in their seats, gathering their belongings. I smooth down the soft fabric of my dress, a deep sapphire blue that hugs my bump just enough to be noticeable but still makes me feel good.

Excitement builds under my skin as I grab my bag and step onto the platform.

And there he is.

Jackson Knox, standing tall by the entrance, leaning casually against a sleek black SUV, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

The city lights catch in his dark, tousled hair, and the crisp suit coat over his fitted dress shirt makes him look like he just walked out of a damn magazine.

And then—he spots me. His entire face changes.

The cool, collected expression shifts into something softer, something completely unreadable but entirely captivating.

I swallow hard. Jesus, this man is dangerous.

Before I can overthink it, I step forward, dragging my suitcase behind me.

Jackson pushes off the car immediately, striding toward me like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather be doing.

“Hey, beautiful.” His voice is low, rough.

My pulse kicks up, nerves buzzing under my skin.

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