Page 63 of The Coach

“Sir, are you waiting for someone?”

I blink.

I look up at her, then at the empty chair across from me.

Jesus.

I must look like some asshole who got stood up.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “I am.”

The server nods. “Would you like to order, or?—”

I wave her off. “I’ll wait. But you can take this drink back.”

His brow furrows. “Was it not satisfactory?”

“I’m not drinking tonight.”

“Oh.” She hesitates for a second, clearly confused, but then nods and removes the glass.

My knee bounces under the table.

I check my phone. Nothing.

I check my watch.

The reservation was for six-thirty. I called in a favor to make it happen.

Now? It’s five minutes until seven.

My hands are restless. I lace them together, squeezing tight.

She’s going to show.

I know it.

And then the restaurant door opens. My entire world tilts.

She looks fucking breathtaking.

Another dark green dress that makes her eyes look brighter than I remember. She knows her color.

Her hair is soft, loose, a little curled at the ends.

She steps inside slowly, her eyes scanning the room.

And when her gaze locks onto mine?

My chest tightens.Hard.

I stand before I even realize I’m doing it.

Ivy hesitates, then walks toward me.

Each step she takes feels like a slow countdown.

By the time she reaches the table, I can barely breathe.

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