Page 12 of The Coach

“Not that I’ve, like, actually been out there living that motto,” I blurt. “I haven’t even been on a date in a year!”

Jackson throws his head back and laughs, loud and genuine.

“You aredeadhysterical, Ivy. I get it. This is your game. You take unsuspecting men to your dream house, propose marriage, pretend like you haven’t been on a date in forever, and then dispose of them the next day.” He feigns some deep realization, eyes going wide. “Wait. Do you…have a load of bodies in this basement? Should I be worried?”

I smirk, playing along. “Well, if you hear sirens in the middle of the night…don’t ask questions.”

“For the record, if I ever go missing, this is exactly where people should start looking,” I say, glancing around.

He chuckles, then takes my hand, leading me toward the porch swing. The warmth of his palm lingers even after we sit.

For a while, we say nothing. His arm stretches along the back of the swing, fingers occasionally grazing my shoulder. It’s a fleeting touch, but enough to send a quiet thrill through me. And it’s nice. Too nice. The kind of nice that sneaks up on you, settles under your skin, and makes you uneasy in the best way.

Eventually, we stand and fall into step beside each other. No words are needed. The silence between us is easy and comfortable, like we’ve been doing this forever.

When we reach my street, the old brick building where I live looms ahead, its familiar, weathered exterior suddenly taking on an entirely new energy.

Like I’m looking at it from a different perspective.

Like somethingshiftedtonight.

We stop just a few steps away, my pulse hammering in my throat as I turn to him.

“So…guess this is where I say goodnight,” I say.

Jackson looks at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Then he smirks.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, stepping in just a little closer. “Or maybe not.”

Before I can say anything else, his lips crash into mine, firm and demanding, sending a wave of heat straight through me. My hands instinctively find his chest, and I feel the solid muscle beneath his shirt as he deepens the kiss, his other hand sliding up my thigh.

I let out a soft gasp as he lifts me effortlessly, pressing me firmly into the warm brick wall. The contrast between the rough texture of the wall and the heat and weight of his body is dizzying. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and he keeps me there, his hands gripping my thighs as if he can’t let go.

Our breaths are ragged, the kiss growing hungrier by the second. His stubble brushes against my skin, a delicious friction that leaves me breathless. His lips leave mine just long enough to trail along my jaw, then down the side of my neck, each kiss sending a fresh jolt of desire coursing through me.

“Fuck,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

His forehead presses against mine, his breath warm and ragged, mingling with mine. His thumb traces carefully along my jaw, his calloused fingertips igniting sparks over my skin. The weight of his gaze pins me in place, his blue eyes smoldering, darkened with something molten—something barely restrained.

“You’re so damn sexy, Ivy,” he whispers, his lips dragging over my ear, the heat of his breath sending a shiver all the way down my spine. His voice is rough, wrecked, filled with something raw and unhinged, something dangerously close to unraveling.

I open my mouth, a breath, a sound, a response—something—but before I can, his lips crash into mine, claiming, devouring. It’s urgent, reckless, teeth scraping, tongues tangling, a kiss that makes my knees weak and my stomach twist with want.

His hands tighten on my thighs, his grip firm, possessive, like he wants to brand me, to make sure I feel himeverywhere.Then, with a sharp tug, he releases one leg, his other hand sliding between us, his fingers brushing over the damp heat of my panties before kneading my ass, dragging my body closer, pressing me into him so I can feel exactly how hard he is.

I gasp against his mouth. He groans, like he’s barely hanging on by a thread.

When we finally break for air, our foreheads stay pressed together, my chest rising and falling in tandem with his. My fingers curl into the back of his neck, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping me upright.

“So,” I whisper, my voice breathless, my pulse pounding, “want to come up for a nightcap?”

His grip on me tightens for half a second, and then his mouth tilts into the faintest, most devastatingly sexy smirk.

"Oh, baby." His voice is all gravel and sin. His thumb brushes over my lower lip, eyes dark and heavy with intent. "I thought you’d never ask."

He gently lowers my leg back to the ground, his hands steadying me as my legs feel like jelly beneath me. For a second, he keeps me close, his hands lingering at my waist as if to make sure I don’t slip away.

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