Page 32 of Mile High Coach

“Oh, really? What is your type, then?”

Without my consent, my mind conjures an image of those stubble-covered dimples, that bright smile, the feel of Harrison’s hands on my hips earlier, the rough press of him into me.

“May I?” I ask, reaching over for a bite of Maya’s popcorn, only to distract from the blush on my face, the thoughts that must be obviously running through my mind.

“Sure,” she says, pulling her chin back and laughing, “but only if you answer the question.”

At that moment, there’s a blur down by the bench, and I turn just in time to see Harrison there, arms crossed, clipboard in his hand, a microphone in front of his face. He’s wearing his signature game-day quarter-zip, the dark color that makes his skin look so good.

Only a few hours ago, his skin was on mine.

He’s pleasantly flushed, the slightest color on his cheeks, a half-grin popping one of those dimples as he leans in, no doubt saying something in that low voice to the blonde female reporter. Later, when I watch the interview, I’ll see exactly how charming and charismatic he always shows up on screen, the way that they flirt back and forth without ever being obvious that’s what they’re doing.

“Oh,” Maya says, and when I turn back to her, there’s a shit-eating grin on her face. “I see. So, you like them a bit older? You’re into aged wine? Finely aged wine?”

“Oh, no. Shut up.” The words just come out of me, then I realize it might be too much for a woman I’ve kind of just met. “I mean—shit, sorry?—”

“No, no,” she says, patting my arm, her eyes sparkling under the lights of the arena. “I liked it. I think you and I should be friends.”

“Okay,” I laugh, feeling strangely like the popular girl has picked me on the playground.

“And don’t worry,” she says, gaining my attention again just as the arena gets loud, and the lights go down for the opening ceremony.

“Worry about what?” I ask, leaning in close to her so she can hear me.

With a sly smile, she says, “I can keep your secret about having the hots for Coach Clark. I may be human resources, but I won’t narc about a crush. Crushing isn’t a problem. It’s only an issue if you follow through on it.”

I nod and smile, leaning back against the seat so I won’t have to make eye contact with her until the panic fluttering in my stomach dissipates again.

Chapter 14

Harrison

When I walk out of my apartment a week later, I nearly trip over the package right in front of the door.

I wrinkle my brow, confused, until I pick it up and realize what it is.

A jersey. For Lovie.

Last week, at our home game, she was sitting in the stands next to that PR girl in a plain white T-shirt. As much as I think she looks great in anything, something in me itched to get her into something Blue Crabs.

Of course, I wanted to order my jersey from before I retired, get my last name on her back, but that might have broken one of the many clauses in our contract.

But there was also no way in hell I was getting her one for one of the guys on the team now. So, instead, I customized one for her with her own number and Waters across the back.

Kicking the box into my apartment, I decide I’m going to deal with it later. Maybe it was a stupid idea in the first place. Our agreement is about sperm and nothing else. No matter how often I think about that sharp way she laughs, or the librarian thing that gets my fucking blood boiling.

While I climb into my car, I think about that day in her office—the first time I got to taste her—and how she’d pushed me up against the wall, telling me to stay put so we wouldn’t get caught.

In the bedroom, I like to be in control. But I’d be lying if I said that little display didn’t instantly make me hard again for her.

“Morning, Coach!”

The guy at the coffee shop greets me with a smile on his face, already getting started on my daily order.

“Morning,” I say, planting an elbow on the counter.

“Hey, congrats on that upset against the Maple Leafs. Not gonna lie—I didn’t think you guys were gonna pull it off.”

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