Page 217 of The Coach

When it’s over, I don’t want to let go. My forehead drops to his as we catch our breath.

Jackson smirks, tucking wet strands of hair behind my ear. “You good, baby?”

I can’t even form words yet. I just nod softly.Yes. So good.

When we step out, my reflection is hazy in the fogged-up mirror. My lips are swollen, my skin flushed, my thighs shaking. Jackson watches me from behind, wrapping an arm around my waist.

His gaze is dark and satisfied as his fingers trace over my stomach, down my hip.

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is full of possession. “You look exactly how you should.”

I swallow hard, heat coiling all over again. How the hell am I supposed to function today?

The bell above the door jingles as we step intoMaple & Bean, the cozy little coffee shop that’s been my go-to for years. The scent of fresh espresso and buttery pastries fills the air, and for the first time in a long time, I feel settled.

Not just because I’m back home.

But because he’s here, too.

Jackson’s hand is warm against the small of my back as we make our way toward our favorite booth by the window. It’s the same one we sat at that first time he visited—before he bought the house, before the engagement, before all of this.

I glance up at him as we sit, my heart flipping at how good he looks, fresh from our shower, a little scruff on his jaw, his gray Henley pulling tight across his chest.

He smirks. “What?”

I shake my head, grinning. “Nothing. Just…it’s nice to have you here.”

His expression softens, but before he can say anything, a voice cuts through the café.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the town’s favorite couple.”

I freeze.

Because of course.

Kyle is standing near the counter, arms crossed, watching us with an unreadable expression.

Jackson tenses beside me, his jaw locking.

I exhale slowly. Okay. Here we go.

Kyle makes his way over, and I brace myself for whatever the hell is about to happen.

“So…” He gestures vaguely between us, then his eyes drop to my engagement ring. “Guess it’s serious, huh?”

Jackson’s arm casually drapes over the back of my seat, his tone smooth but laced with warning. “It is.”

Kyle exhales, shaking his head with a wry chuckle. “Yeah. I figured.” He rocks back on his heels, then gives me a pointed look. “Guess I was wrong when I told them.”

My stomach drops.

“Told who?” I ask. “Wait, told who, what? What are you talking about, Kyle?”

Kyle shrugs. “The sports bloggers. The media. Whoever wanted the scoop. I told ‘em you were using her for attention. I tipped ‘em off way early.”

Jackson’s entire body goes still.

His fingers tighten around his coffee cup, and I swear I feel the heat of his glare from where I’m sitting.

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