Page 29 of The Coach

We collapse together, her body still trembling, her breaths ragged. I press a soft kiss to her shoulder, my hands sliding around her waist to hold her close.

“That was so hot,” she breathes.

You’re telling me, I grin.

And if you told me twenty-four hours earlier that I would meet a girl last night who I’d be dead onobsessed with? I would have said you were crazy.

Back in the car, Ivy’s got a lazy smile on her face. She looks so damn pretty. Not to mention, satisfied.

“So what else should I know about the Ivy personal tour?” I ask.

She taps her fingers on the wheel, her lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh, the best is yet to come. Just wait.”

We drive in companionable silence for a moment, the quiet of the car filling the space. I let my gaze wander back out the window, taking in the charm of the town. It’s not what I expected—not that I’d had any real expectations.

Brick-lined streets weave through downtown, flanked by old-fashioned lampposts and historic buildings with faded signage, like they belong to another era. A corner café with wide bay windows is filled with old folks sitting out on the patio. Across the street, a bookshop with a hand-painted sign and a deep green awning sits next to a barber shop that’s probably been there for fifty years.

A train whistle sounds faintly in the distance, blending with the stir of life around us.

Still, it feels… nice. Comfortable.

The residential streets are tree-lined and peaceful, houses with wraparound porches and well-loved front yards, the kind where kids leave their bikes sprawled on the grass.

“So,” I say, breaking the silence, “you ever date anyone around here?”

She laughs, glancing over at me. “What kind of question is that?”

“A curious one,” I reply, grinning. “Come on. A beautiful small-town girl like you? You’ve gotta have some stories.”

She groans, rolling her eyes. “Fine. But you asked for it.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on.”

“There was one guy,” she starts, her tone dripping with mock disdain. “Kyle. We dated for, like, six months right after college. He worked at the hardware store, and my mom loved him.”

“Let me guess,” I say, smirking. “Your mom was convinced he was ‘husband material.’”

“Exactly,” she says, laughing. “But he was… weird. Like,reallyinto conspiracy theories. Spent hours explaining how the moon landing was fake, and—oh my God—he wasobsessedwith Bigfoot.”

“Bigfoot?” I echo, laughing. “You’re kidding.”

“Dead serious.” She shakes her head. “He even had a whole YouTube channel dedicated to ‘proving’ Bigfoot is real. The final straw? He tried to drag me to a ‘sighting’ in the woods.”

I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. “That’s… incredible. Please tell me he at least wore, like, a Bigfoot hat or something.”

She grins. “Oh, he hada whole wardrobe—T-shirts, hats, even socks. Full-on Bigfoot merch.”

I gasp. “No.”

“Yes.” She leans in, eyes shining with amusement. “And don’t even get me started on the flat earth thing. That was where I had to cut ties.”

I clutch my chest dramatically. “You’re telling meBigfootwasn’t the dealbreaker, but flat earth was?”

“Listen,” she says, “I could tolerate the occasional Sasquatch documentary. But when he started drawing me diagrams on how airplanesactuallyworked? That’s when I knew it was time to run.”

I shake my head, still grinning. “Well, damn. Yeah, that’s a solid reason to run for the hills. Anything else I should know?”

She hesitates, her smile faltering slightly. “Well, with Kyle…let’s just say it didn’t end well. Let’s just say he didn’t take the breakup lightly.”

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