Page 144 of The Coach

I wake up before Ivy.

Which isn’t surprising, considering I absolutely ruined her last night.

She’s curled up in my bed, the sheets tangled around her waist, her dark hair fanned out over my pillow. Her breathing is soft, steady. Completely at peace.

And something in my chest clenches.

This woman—the mother of my child—is here. In my bed. In my home.

And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel restless. I don’t feel like I have to be somewhere else, thinking about something else.

I just feel…settled. Like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. It’s a strange feeling, since I’ve never really felt it before.

I scrub a hand down my face, inhaling deep, then slip out of bed.

I put on some sweatpants and head to the kitchen.

She’s going to be starving when she wakes up. And since I kept her up all night, I figure I at least owe her breakfast.

I fire up the coffee maker, crack some eggs into a pan, and toss some bacon on the skillet.

The sound of bare feet padding on hardwood makes me glance over my shoulder.

And Jesus Christ.

Ivy stands in the doorway, wearing my T-shirt.

That’s it.

No bra. No pants. Just bare legs, soft skin, and the faintest outline of her nipples peeking through my shirt.

I immediately want to throw her back in bed and start the whole damn night over again.

She rubs her eyes, stretching her arms over her head. Her belly is small, but noticeable now, just the slightest curve. My gut tightens as I watch her.

“Mmm. You made bacon?”

I smirk, flipping it in the pan. “Figured I owed you after last night.”

She snorts, walking up behind me and wrapping her arms around my waist, pressing her warm, soft body against my back.

“You definitely do,” she purrs against my spine, voice thick with sleep.

I grin.

She wanders to the coffee, pouring herself a cup, then raises an eyebrow toward me.

“Yes, it’s decaf,” I say.

“Read my mind.” She sips it.

She slides onto a barstool, pulling one knee up, my shirt slipping higher on her thigh.

I force myself to look away before I get too many ideas.

“What’s on the agenda today?” I ask, plating up the food and setting a plate in front of her.

She sighs, poking at her eggs. “Lauren’s calling me at some point. She’s all up in my business, wants details.”

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