Page 19 of The Coach

He peeled off his jacket, tossing it on the bed without taking his eyes off me. “You do?”

“Yes. I—I care about you. A lot.”

Tyler smiled, a soft, dubious curve of his lips, and he stepped closer to me. His hands reached for me, tugging me close, his breath warm against my neck.

“What… What are you doing?” I breathed out, barely audible, the heat of him washing my face like waves crashing on the forbidden shore. I felt all the control I’d clung to slipping away, leaving me standing there, wondering if this was the moment when I would finally come undone.

“I want you,” he whispered. “So much. All this time…”

And then his mouth found mine, soft and insistent, and I felt myself surrender, every line I’d drawn between us slipping away. I kissed him back, harder than I meantto, our tongues meeting, tasting, swirling around each other. My hands were clutching at his back, crumpling the fabric of his hoodie, feeling his heat sear into me. His hands found my shoulders, his fingers gripping tight, and I felt his pulse quicken under my touch, his tequila-flavored breath coming in short, uneven bursts. It was a different kind of kiss—drunk, hungry—my first kiss with another man. So wrong. So right.

“Tyler,” I gasped, my voice breaking, but he didn’t stop, didn’t pull away, his hands sliding down my arms, pulling me even closer. He squeezed my pecs, his hands roaming through the fur, his lips hot, urgent, full of a need that we’d both kept buried for too long. As his hands traveled lower, sliding down my abs, under my towel and into my pubes, I forced myself to speak. “Wait. You’re drunk. We can’t do this. Not like this.”

“I’m not drunk,” he slurred against my neck. “Only drunk for you.”

He giggled, and I caught his hand just as it reached the base of my cock. He stilled, his body going slack against mine, his head resting on my shoulder. After a moment where he stayed quiet, I realized he’d passed out, his breath slow, steady, his warmth a silent comfort against the ache in my chest. I held him there, feeling the weight of him settle, the surge of guilt and longing washing over me in equal measure.

Gently, I picked him up and placed him down on the bed, letting him rest, his face peaceful in the dimlight. I brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, my fingers lingering, and then stepped back, feeling the full weight of what had just happened sink in.

He’d come to me, crossed every line, every boundary, leaving me with the same raw ache I’d been fighting against for months. I looked at him there, sleeping in my bed, serene and unaware, and I felt that old resolve flicker, falter. Standing in the semi-dark, I knew there’d be no going back now.

13. Tyler

Waking up felt like crawling through the mud. My head throbbed with the weight of a hangover, my mouth dry, sticky, like I’d swallowed a handful of cotton. I forced my eyes open, blinking against the unfamiliar blur of gray morning light. The room wasn’t mine—the sheets were white and starched, tucked too neatly, and there was the faint, clean scent of hotel linen.

Then, all at once, it came back. Gettysburg. The competition. The drinks after.

Chris.

After that, nothing. I lifted my head and looked around, trying to determine where I was. And the first thing I saw was Blake, coming out of the bathroom into the room. Wrapped in a thick white bathrobe, his hair damp and tousled,obviously fresh out of the shower. For one surreal moment, I thought I was still dreaming—Blake and I were a couple, living together, happily in love. But then his eyes met mine and his voice broke through the haze.

“Good morning. How are you feeling?”

“Coach,” I muttered, tongue heavy, feeling a sudden sharp embarrassment that prickled through me. I was inhisroom. What the hell did I do last night to end up here? I sat up, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I’m fine. A bit hungover. But I… I don’t remember coming here.”

He went over to the nightstand, grabbed a small plastic pill bottle, and handed it to me with a glass of water. “Take this. It will make you feel better.”

My eyes were glued to him, the bathrobe hanging loose over his body, revealing just enough of him to stir my imagination: his chest above, his calves below. Once again I wondered if this was a dream—Blake taking care of me after I got drunk. It felt more surreal than him eating my ass in his office. I took the pill, swallowing it with a mouthful of water, my gaze still transfixed on him.

“You knocked on my door at about one in the morning,” he said. A wry smile tugged the corner of his mouth, his eyes softening a little. I’ve never seen him so loosened up before. It was almost homey. “Hammered, to say the least. I got you in here and figured it was best to let you sleep it off.”

I nodded. My head throbbed, but through the fog, memories flickered, pieces of last night slotting together—the soft, unexpected warmth of his mouth on mine, the moment I’d leaned in, felt his lips part, his hand sliding up the back of my neck. “Wait… Did—did something happen?”

Blake met my gaze, and my pulse quickened. I wondered if he’d brush it off as a mistake, chalk it up to alcohol or poor judgment. “We kissed,” he said simply, his voice even, calm. “And then you passed out, so I put you in bed and tucked you in.”

Was he… was he making jokes? “Who are you and what did you do to the real Blake?” I murmured, the words leaving my mouth before I had a chance to think them over.

But instead of a rebuttal or at least a scowl, there was only a low, deep chuckle. “I suppose I deserve that.”

I glanced over myself, noticing I was still wearing the same T-shirt from last night. But I was only in my briefs, my pants folded over a nearby chair, my sneakers and socks tucked beneath it. The thought of him stripping me and putting me to bed made my underwear suddenly feel too tight. “But if I slept here in your bed, then where did you…”

“Right beside you,” he said, looking at me like it was a dare. “I thought the bed was big enough for both of us.” Then he got very serious. “I haven’t groped you or anything like that, in case you’re wondering. I’d nevertaken advantage of you in your state. I only wanted to make sure you were safe. I know a little too much about passing out and waking up in strange places.”

The idea of him watching over me, all protective and proprietorial, did something to my insides that felt weirdly similar to having a stomach full of butterflies. I always believed that was a ridiculous cliché, but here I was, feeling fluttery and giddy like a lovesick schoolgirl. Hell, I wouldn’t mind even if he did molest me in my sleep. But his last comment made me curious. I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but I was reluctant to invade his privacy and break this domestic spell we had going on. So, I only said, “Thanks.”

Blake’s face softened, his shoulders relaxing as he exhaled through his nose. He approached the bed and held out a hand. “Come on, let’s get you into the shower. It will help clear your head. I’ll order us room service and we’ll eat when you’re done.”

Had I landed in some parallel universe? In a span of one night, my life had turned upside down, and here I was, in Blake’s bed, ready to go into his shower and share breakfast with him. Not that I was complaining. I took his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. My legs were shaky, but he kept his hand on my arm, steadying me for a moment, his grip warm and grounding. Our eyes locked for a moment before my gaze slipped to his lips. I wanted to taste them again, recalling how warm and soft they felt, but I didn’t want to push my luck. I probablyhad morning breath, anyway. So, feeling stable enough, I detached myself from him and waddled to the john.

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