Page 82 of The Coach

I toss my keys on the counter, kick off my shoes, and flop onto my bed.

I’m exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly.

And then—my phone buzzes.

I reach for it automatically.

Jackson Knox.

My heart does a weird little flip.

Jackson: Can’t stop thinking about you.

Jackson: Or the way you looked at me at dinner.

I swallow hard, staring at the screen.

This is dangerous.

But before I can think better of it, I type back.

Ivy: Oh yeah?

Jackson: Yeah.

Ivy: And what exactly are you thinking about?

The dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.

Finally, his reply comes in.

Jackson: Wouldn’t you like to know?

I drop my phone onto my pillow, staring at the ceiling.

I am so, so screwed.

Chapter Sixteen

JACKSON

I roll my shoulders, exhaling slowly as the cameras flicker to life.

I’ve done this a million times.

Press conferences. Media briefings. Talking about the game, the team, the plays.

But today?

Today, I’m fighting like hell to focus.

Because Ivy’s in my head.

Because I haven’t stopped thinking about her.

And because if I don’t get it together, these reporters will eat me alive.

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