Page 24 of Let You Love Me

Around me, the boys exchange a look, and I can see the curiosity glittering in their eyes as Coach continues, “She’ll be handling hydration, helping to bring equipment to and from practices and games, as well as cleaning uniforms and gear. But I want you to treat her with the same respect you'd showanyone on this team,” Coach emphasizes. “She’s here to learn and contribute. She’s a hard worker and should be treated as a colleague, not as the coach’s daughter. Is that clear?”

Chance Lockhart steps forward, his gaze narrowed on Coach Turner. Unlike the rest of us, he doesn’t seem surprised at the news Coach has a daughter, which I suppose is to be expected. Chance and Coach have a history. But if the crease in his brow and the tight set of his mouth are any indication, the news Turner’s daughter will be joining us agitates him.

He opens his mouth before he snaps it closed again, as if deciding against whatever it is he wanted to say.

Everyone around me nods in agreement. Beside me, Tommy nudges me in the ribs, grinning as he mouths,Think she’s hot?

I snort, mumbling out of the corner of my mouth. “If she looks anything like Turner, not a chance in hell.”

Tommy chuckles.

“There is one caveat,” Coach continues, his gaze firm. “My daughter is off-limits, gentlemen. No dating, no flirting, no nonsense. I won’t have you harassing her or giving her a hard time or placing bets on her back, or any of that other bullshit that goes on when a coach’s daughter is dangled in front of a bunch of horn-ball athletes.”

Tommy snorts, the sound so loud Coach glares at him. “AndI also won’t have you distracted. Your focus needs to remain solely on the field. We’re a team, and that means staying focused on the game, not my daughter’s personal life.” He pauses, allowing the weight of his words to sink in.

“Oh, yeah,” Tommy murmurs under his breath. “She’s totally fucking hot.”

I jab him in the ribs and he lets out anoofas Coach glances our way.

Does he not fucking listen?

“I’ve worked hard to build a program that demands discipline and dedication.” Coach glares at us, his voice unwavering. “And I won’t tolerate any drama that might derail us. If anyone here thinks they can test these boundaries, they’re in for a rude awakening. And if I hear even so much as a rumble about you bothering her or breaking any of these rules, trust me when I say, you will regret it.”

Shit. He means business.

Mission accomplished.

I’d rather cut my dick off than so much as look twice at the chick.

My gaze shifts behind him, and I wonder why the need for such a strong warning. Then again, I’ve been around athletes my whole life. We’re a group of cocky motherfuckers,hornycocky motherfuckers, and I can see some of them viewing her as the ultimate conquest. Forbidden fruit just makes you want to take a bite all that much more.

“Are there any questions?” Coach asks. His gaze jumps to each and every one of us, and at our silence, he nods. “Good. I know some of you might be thinking this is a bit harsh,” he admits, his expression softening just a fraction. “But I’m not just doing this for the team. I’m doing it for her, too. She’s here for her own reasons and I won’t let anything get in the way of that. Understood?”

“Yes Coach,” everyone answers.

“Good.” He cracks a smile for the first time since he stepped foot on the field, then shifts, revealing a slender figure waiting behind him.

My jaw unhinges.

I eat my words from moments ago as I blink at the woman hovering in the background with eyes I know firsthand are a brilliant cerulean blue because they’ve haunted my dreams in the two nights since we met.

I stare ahead at her, trying to convince myself she’s a figment of my imagination. A mirage. Purely a product of my subconscious desires.

I’ve wanted to see her again ever since we parted in the park, and here she is. Stamped, sealed, and delivered right to me on a fucking die-if-you-touch-her silver platter.

My heart leaps into my throat while the sound of my pulse fills my ears so loud, I can barely register the words as Coach motions toward her with obvious pride and says, “Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to my daughter, Lane Turner.”

#

Lane is Coach Turner’s daughter.

Maybe if I say it to myself enough, it will sink in. Or somehow become untrue. The latter would be great.

She stands before the huddle of my teammates and gives a little wave while Coach stares each of us down, a warning in his eyes to punctuate the verbal one he just gave us.

I squint into the sun, sweat sliding down my forehead.

I feel like someone’s playing a cruel joke on me. No way the girl I met over the weekend, the one I want so fucking badly, the one I can’t stop thinking about, is the one girl I can’t have.

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