Page 185 of The Coach

I barely have time to react before I’m wrapped up in his arms, the scent of rain and leather clinging to him. Relief crashes over me, and I hold him tight, my face pressing into his chest.

"Well, this is a welcome surprise. A work-week visit."

He kisses me—quick, firm, but enough to send a ripple of warmth through me—then pulls back, his hands gripping my shoulders, his eyes serious.

"Let’s go for a drive."

I frown. "A drive? Why?"

"I think it would be better than staying here."

There’s something in his tone, something unreadable, but I don’t press. Instead, I nod, grabbing my jacket off the hook and slipping on my sneakers as he watches me.

Outside, the rain has slowed to a drizzle. The pavement is dark and slick under the glow of the streetlights. Jackson opens the passenger door for me, waiting as I slide in, the leather cool against my legs. He rounds the front of the car, his movements calm but purposeful as he climbs into the driver’s seat, shutting the door with a quiet thud.

We drive in comfortable silence, the rhythmic sweep of the wipers filling the space between us.

And then—Jackson pulls up in front of the house.

My dream house.

I blink at it, my heart doing something weird in my chest. "Why are we here?"

He cuts the engine and leans back against the seat, smirking. “Thought you’d like to take a look.”

I give him a look. “Jackson, we can’t just goin, though.”

“Come on, Emerald Girl.” He throws me a cocky grin before pushing his door open. “Live a little.”

I sigh but follow him anyway, my pulse quickening as we slip past the front gate and up to the grand wraparound porch. Jackson tries the door, and—to my horror—it swings open.

“Jesus. It’s still unlocked?” I whisper.

He grins, stepping inside. “Guess we’re lucky.”

I glance around nervously before following him inside. The house is dark and silent, the air thick with history. My fingers trail along the wooden banister of the sweeping staircase as I take it all in.

Jackson watches me, leaning casually against the wall. “Looks even better than it did that night, huh?”

“It’s perfect,” I breathe.

“Want to go downstairs to the basement?”

“I don’t know. What if it’s spooky?”

I let him lead me downstairs to the basement. It’s unfinished, wide open—full of possibilities.

Jackson sweeps a hand around the space. “This room could be anything. Maybe a movie room. Maybe a gym.” He shoots me a wicked grin. “Or, you know, a sex dungeon.”

I groan, shoving him lightly. “Jesus, Jackson.”

“Kidding…maybe.” He chuckles, then nods toward the back corner. “Or a dark room. For your photography. Seriously.”

A slow, warm ache unfurls in my core.

Because the fact that I’d love a dark room? That’s something I’ve never even told him. That’s like a fantasy I keep deep and hidden, because it seems so crazy. So impossible.

He watches my reaction closely.

---