Page 28 of Coach's Temptation

"Sophia. Fix this," I demand the second she picks up.

A pause. Then, dry as hell: "I assume you mean your life and not whatever fresh disaster you’ve just walked into."

I kick at a soggy towel and sigh. "Part of me thought I might walk back in and it would all be magically fixed."

There’s rustling on her end, probably her flipping through her planner like organization alone can solve my entire existence.

"Any luck with a plumber?"

I let my head bounce off the wet wall behind me, glancing around at the massive dark stain expanding across my ceiling. "Not unless I want to drop five hundred dollars just to get someone here before next week."

Sophia whistles. "Yikes. Okay, well, Blake said—"

I pull my head away from the wall, my phone nearly slipping from my fingers. Of course Sophia has an answer that involves Blake.

Her perfect fiancé with his perfect house and his perfect proposal.

My teeth clench as I stare at the puddle spreading across my floor, at my sad little mixing bowl catching drips like tears.

I groan dramatically.

"If this is about your fiancé solving my problems, I swear to God—"

"It's not. Mostly.But didn't you say that a certain other man might have muttered something about ‘handling it’?"

I freeze mid-step, duffel bag half-packed. "What?"

A hazy, annoyingly sexy memory creeps in. Hunter’s voice, low and certain as he crowded me and caged me in against the wall.I’ll take care of it,he growled.

Did I tell Sophia about that? Huh. It's been a long day.

I glance around my disaster of an apartment.

I should be calling another plumber. Should be figuring this out on my own.

But some tiny, evil, traitorous part of me wonders if Hunter meant it. If he’s already making calls, setting things up, like he still has some kind of claim over my life.

I shake it off, zip up my overnight bag, and march toward the door. "Nope. Not thinking about this. Not entertaininganyof it.And definitely not waiting around to find out if Mr. Bossy Pants is interfering in my life."

Sophia hums knowingly. "Mmmhmm. You keep telling yourself that, babe."

I sigh, pressing my forehead to the doorframe. "Fuck.I need to go to my parents for dinner. Wish me luck."

"You’ll survive."

"Shoot me now."

I hang up with a groan, hoist my bag over my shoulder, and head for the one place worse than my sinking ship of an apartment.

***

I pull into my parents' driveway, kill the engine, and stare at the two-story colonial that haunts my childhood memories.

The porch light flickers—same burnt-out bulb from my last visit three weeks ago. Dad's probably still "getting around to it."

My fingers drum against the steering wheel. I could turn around. Maybe if I sit here long enough, they'll forget I was supposed to come.

I could book a hotel. Sleep in my car. Anything but—

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