Page 93 of The Coach

I can’t move. Can’t breathe.

I just nod, because what the hell else am I supposed to do?

Jackson pulls back slightly, just enough to grab his phone from the counter.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t even look at me. “I’m ordering you a security system.”

I blink. “Seriously?”

“A Ring camera.” He’s already scrolling, clicking through options like this is non-negotiable. “And a second lock for your door. And I’ll have someone come out here tomorrow to install a floodlight for the parking lot?—”

I let out a breathless laugh, my stomach flipping in the worst, best way. “Jesus, Jackson. You don’t have to do all that. Kyle’s harmless. I swear. Just a little socially awkward and out-of-pocket sometimes.”

He shoots me a look. “I’m not asking.”

I shouldn’t find this hot.

But I do.

God help me, I really do.

A few minutes later, we’re settled on the couch, the tension still hanging thick in the air.

I glance at him, then at the TV. “So…do you want to watchMonday Night Footballor what?”

Jackson finally relaxes, chuckling under his breath.

“Damn,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’re my kinda girl.”

He grabs the remote, slinging an arm around me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself lean in.

Later, long after I’ve changed into pajamas and settled into bed, I wake up—starving.

I drag myself out of bed and into the kitchen, flipping on the dim light and digging through the fridge for something that won’t make me regret my life choices at 1 a.m.

“Midnight snack?”

I jump, spinning around—Jackson is leaning against the doorway, his hair rumpled from sleep, his sweatpants slung low on his hips, his bare chest broad and sculpted in the low light.

My mouth goes dry.

“I—” I clear my throat, quickly turning back to the fridge. “Pregnancy hunger. Go back to sleep.”

He ignores me, stepping into the kitchen like he owns the place, like this is just normal now.

“What are we eating?”

I sigh dramatically, waving a slice of cheese in his direction. “This, apparently.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I need to know what little treats you like. You know, for the next time I buy you groceries.”

I blink. “You?—”

“Yeah,” he says casually, grabbing a glass from the cupboard like he’s lived here forever. “Can’t have you surviving on cheese slices alone.”

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