Page 9 of The Coach

His grin deepens, lazy and confident, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that feels so real, it’s intimidating. “It’s not a line if I mean it.”

“Well, how do I know you mean it?”

“That’s up to you. Here. Look into my eyes.”

He takes the opportunity to lean in closer, his face inches from mine now. His hand slides from my knee to my thigh, his touch slow and careful, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

“Now tell me if you think I’m some player quoting lines to you.”

I blink, stunned into silence, feeling my heart race.

“It’s really up to you to use your judgment, Ivy,” he continues. “Look, I’m having an incredible time tonight. If that’s all this is, one random hangout at the bar for a few hours, that’s okay with me. I admit I like being around you, though.”

“Why?”

“Do you always overthink this much?” His lips curve into a teasing smile. “I can’t just like your vibe? You need to have some concrete reason?”

“Only when I’m dangerously close to making a bad decision,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

His gaze drops to my lips, and for a moment, it feels like the world around us disappears. “Maybe it’s not a bad decision,” he says, his voice low and rough, “if it’s exactly what you want.”

My breath catches, and before I can talk myself out of it, I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. The kiss is explosive, his mouth warm and firm against mine. His hand tightens on my thigh, pulling me closer as his other hand slides into my hair, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss.

It’s not gentle or sweet. It’s hungry, consuming, like he’s been holding back all night and just decided to let it all out. My fingers curl into his shirt, the fabric bunching in my fists as I lose myself in him.

When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathless. His forehead rests against mine, and his eyes burn into me, the intensity of his gaze making my pulse race even faster.

I narrow my eyes at him, intrigued. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Older than you,” he says, his smirk returning.

“Not a real answer,” I shoot back.

He chuckles, glancing at me sideways. “How old areyou?”

“Twenty-seven,” I say, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Your turn.”

“Ooof,” he says, leaning on the railing next to me. “You’re young. Might be too young for me.”

“How old are you?” I ask him.

“I’m old enough to remember the early nineties.”

I shake my head, smiling. “Wow! The nineties! You’re ancient.”

He laughs. “See? You’re too young for me. Sorry.”

“That’s too bad,” I say, grinning. “Guess we’ll have to take back that kiss.”

“Guess so.”

I take a moment to take him in. He definitely looks great for his thirties.

“So, I’m curious…did you grow up in the big city? Or a small town?” I ask. “I feel like we’ve talked so much but I still somehow know nothing about you.”

He shakes his head, his gaze drifting back to the stars. “My grandparents grew up in a small town outside of Davenport actually. I always loved visiting them, but no, I’ve been in the city most of my life. That’s where I work.”

“What do you do?”

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