Page 83 of The Coach

I adjust my mic, nodding toward the front row. “Alright, let’s get started.”

A reporter in a navy Stallions polo leans forward. “Coach Knox, how’s the team looking heading into San Francisco?”

Easy. Routine.

“We’re strong. Coming off a great win, but we’re not getting comfortable. We’ve got work to do.”

Another reporter, one I recognize fromThe Tribune, speaks up. “Dallas Connelly seems to be hitting his stride. Thoughts on his development?”

I nod. “Dallas is a competitor. He’s locked in, and we trust him to lead this offense.”

It’s all going fine.

I answer, nod, keep my cool.

Until the question that blindsides me.

Kara Richards, one of the sharper journalists in the room, lowers her notepad and smiles like she’s about to ruin my day.

“Coach, I have to ask—Chicago’s a big city, and you’re new here. Has anyone special caught your eye yet?”

My jaw tightens.

Not where I thought this was going.

I grip the table, forcing a neutral expression. “I’m focused on football, Kara. I think that there’s a trophy we all want to win that would look veryspecial.”

A few reporters chuckle. A safe, coach-like answer.

But she doesn’t let it go.

“Oh, come on. Play along a little. The news could use a feel good story. There’s no mystery woman keeping you up at night?”

Jesus Christ.

A flash of green eyes and soft laughter slams into my chest.

I blink, pushing the image of Ivy out of my head.

“The only thing keeping me up at night is the Stallions defense,” I say smoothly. “We’re working on some adjustments for Sunday.”

The room chuckles, and Kara sits back, smirking.

I move on, but my pulse?

Still hammering.

I barely make it out of the press room before Drew falls into step beside me.

"You know, I thought the press conference would be the highlight of my day, but actually,” he turns to me with that smug,I know something you don’t want me to knowgrin, "thisis the highlight of my day."

I exhale. "Not now, Drew."

“Oh, no,nowis exactly the time.” He keeps pace with me, hands in his pockets like he’s just making casual conversation. “I mean, first, you tank that question about amystery woman,” he makes air quotes, "and now, Ifinallyfigured out what was up with those women who snuck past security last Sunday.”

My spine stiffens, but I don’t slow down.

He keeps talking. “See, at first, I bought the influencer thing. Made sense. Happens all the time. But then I got curious—because something about them seemed…off. So I did some digging.”

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