Page 58 of Coach's Temptation

Like the fact that she’s still living in my house.

Three days of brushing past her in the hall. Three days of pretending I don’t notice the way she hums under her breath while making coffee in my kitchen.

And this morning? This morning I walked into my own damn living room to find her doing downward-fucking-dog in a pair of tiny pink shorts.

Remind me... Why the hell did I make those rules?!

Oh, that’s right. Because I thought I had self-control. Thought I could survive a few weeks with her under my roof without doing something stupid.

Idiot.

I rub a hand over my jaw and pick up a stack of Natalie’s injury reports from yesterday's game. Neat. Thorough. Annoyingly good.

She has no idea that I’m spending a small fortune fixing up the place she’ll be moving back into. Whenever the hell that is.

Which is great.Fantastic,actually.Because once she’s gone, I won’t have to walk around my own damn house supporting a half-chub every time she breathes.

I flip through the pages, scanning the notes. Detailed assessments, precise recovery timelines. Every player accounted for, down to the smallest bruise. It’s all there, exactly how it should be.

Then I see it.

A tiny, ridiculous detail that makes my chest go tight.

She dots her i’s with little hearts.

Jesus Christ.

A small smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. She’s too good at this. Too good at keeping me together. Too good at getting in my head when she’s not even here.

Except—

She is here.

The air shifts the second she appears drifting past my doorway.

Tight, black yoga pants hug every inch of her, clinging to her gloriously round ass. The fabric stretches over the curve of her thighs, dipping into that dangerous little waistband that ridesjustlow enough to tease.

Her hips sway as she moves, smooth and effortless, and that ass—Jesus Christ, that ass—wobbles in a way that has me gripping the desk hard.

Heat slams into my spine, my cock twitching against my zipper.

Why the hell is she still here?

And why the fuck do those pants exist?

Enough is enough.

I step into the hall, arms crossed. "What the hell are you still doing here?"

Natalie halts mid-step, one brow lifting as she slowly turns toward me. "Oh, hello to you too,sunshine."

The overhead lights catch on the wisps of hair that have slipped free from her ponytail. She looks fresh, flushed… fucking perfect.

And those yoga pants—God help me—those yoga pants are the devil’s work, I swear to God.

I gesture vaguely at her entire being. "Are you even working? Or just walking around distracting people?"

She blinks up at me, all wide-eyed innocence with a bat of those dark, long lashes.

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