Page 13 of Yes, Coach

Coach: Wear a dress. No bra. Panties are okay. This time.

My tummy does fifty somersaults, then my phone dings again and I make this involuntary chirping sound.

Coach: And I’d love to see a smile, you deserve to always be happy.

Heat floods my cheeks as I read it, and I quickly shove my phone in my backpack before anyone can see. The casual authority matched with this soul-deep nurturing vibe he gives makes my knees like noodles.

I race home and tear through my closet, which admittedly doesn't take long since I own exactly three dresses. One is for church (too formal), one is from sophomore year homecoming (too fancy), and one is a simple sundress I bought at Target last summer with babysitting money.

It's navy blue with tiny white flowers, hits just above my knees, and has buttons down the front. Easy to take off, just like he said.

I shower and shave everything twice, then spend twenty minutes staring at myself in the mirror. Without a bra, my nipples are visible through the thin fabric, and the knowledge that he specifically requested this makes my entire body flush with heat.

"You're going out?" Mom asks when I come into the living room. She's curled up on the couch with her nebulizer, looking smaller than usual.

"Just for a little while. Study group." The lie comes easier than it should.

"You work too hard, baby. You should be out having fun, not always studying or working." She reaches for my hand. "Promise me you'll do something just for you once in a while?"

If only she knew.

"I promise, Mom."

"Good. And Taryn? You look beautiful. That dress is perfect on you."

The drive to the address on my GPS takes fifteen minutes through winding country roads. I've been to this part of town before for babysitting gigs, but I've never paid this much attention like I’m leaving mental breadcrumbs. I need to know my way back, with or without my phone guiding me.

My heart is lodged in my throat as the GPS on my phone announces I’ve arrived at my destination and I turn the wheel of my Honda to the right and along a long gravel driveway.

The house is set back from the road, a generous rustic wood ranch with a porch along the entire front, all shaded by hundred-year-old oaks and towering pines like the house is being wrapped in a hug by nature.

I sit in my car for a full five minutes, engine running, trying to work up the courage to get out. This is it. Once I walk up to that door, there's no pretending this is some innocent, misunderstood flirtation.

My phone buzzes.

Coach:I can see you sitting in your car, baby girl. Come inside.

That gets me moving. I grab my purse and walk up the porch steps on shaking legs, but before I can knock, the door opens.

And there he is.

He's changed out of his school clothes into jeans and a black t-shirt that clings to his chest in ways that should be illegal. He’s still one hundred percent NFL stock, with biceps bigger than my thighs, thick muscles that brace between his neck and shoulders and a grid iron walk that makes me absolutely melt.

His hair is slightly damp and messed up, like he's been running his hands through it, and his gray eyes are dark with something that makes my breath catch.

"You're beautiful," he says simply, bringing a hand to cover his mouth for a second, and the way he's looking at me makes me feel like the most desirable woman in the world instead of an eighteen-year-old girl in a Target dress.

"Thank you, Daddy." The title feels natural now, right.

Something shifts in his expression at that. "Inside, baby. I want you in my home."

I step past him into a living room that's surprisingly cozy, but what catches my attention are the plants. Lots of them, lined up on windowsills and tucked into corners, all thriving and happy looking.

"Plants?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "Not exactly what I pictured in Coach Reynolds' bachelor pad."

He runs a flat hand back and forth over his pecs, looking almost embarrassed. "They don't talk back. Don't need much either, just water and light and a minimal amount of attention."

He closes the door behind me as I step across the wood floor into the living room, toward a massive snake plant by the window, itsthick leaves standing at attention like little green soldiers. "This one's impressive. What kind is it?"

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