Chapter 19
Preston
My eyes traveled over Trinity’s face, across her T-shirt, and down her bare legs, searching for any sign that Jagger motherfucking Ross had his hands on her.
I cataloged her fuzzy slippers, then the lean muscles of her legs before I moved my gaze back to her face.
It wasn’t flushed. Her lips were pressed in a firm line, a furrow in her brow.
Her hair was slightly damp, hanging over one shoulder. She just showered?
She already washed him off.
Fuck, that was worse.
My hands clenched at my sides, my neck tense when she tilted her head.
“Coach? You need something?”
I said the first thing that popped into my mind. “A cup of sugar.”
It was a neighborly thing to do, right? Borrow a cup of sugar here and there. An egg or some milk. Very suburbia.
“A cup of sugar?” she repeated, a question hanging at the tail end.
“Yes. Sugar.” I cleared my throat as her eyebrow lifted.
“Okay.” She stepped aside. “Come in.”
My feet moved, following behind her before I closed the door. The house smelled like warm cookies and a hint of cinnamon. I’m assuming from the candle she had burning on the coffee table.
“What do you need sugar for?” she asked as she rounded the kitchen island.
“Baking,” I muttered, my eyes moving to the couch.
It looked unused. Thank fuck.
Wait, I bet they used the bed.
I’m losing it.
“Baking,” she mused. “At eight thirty at night?”
“Sweet tooth,” I responded, my hands gripping the edge of the counter.
“Wow.” She reached out to open her pantry door.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just surprised, is all. Someone like you…baking.”
Now it was my turn to lift a brow. “A bit judgmental, don’t you think?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Just an observation from past experience.”
“I learned to cook at a young age. You kind of have to when your mom leaves you for days at a time with a toddler who needs to eat.”
The words tumbled out before I could reel them back in.
I didn’t share my childhood loosely. In fact, Wesley was about the only one who knew the details.
She froze, her eyes darting to mine. “That’s…”
“Fucked up,” I scoffed under my breath.
“Well, yes, but I was going to say horrible.” She swallowed. “I’m really sorry that happened to you.”
“Most of my cooking was self-taught, but Cecile, my mom, had me watching Martha Stewart before I went off to college. She wanted me to be prepared.” I let a smile slide over my lips at her memory. My grip on the counter eased a fraction. “What about you?”
“My mom wasn’t exactly the best caretaker. And she was a vegan.” She glanced into the pantry. “If I wanted anything besides soy and lettuce, I had to make it myself.”
Her legs flexed as she rose up on her tiptoes. “I can’t tell you how many times I had to make food in secret because she made a big show of how I was going to ruin my body.”
I scoffed again. “Your body is perfect.”
She slowly lowered from her toes, her hands coming down to her chest, clutching two bags of sugar.
A blush stained her cheeks, but she didn’t address the comment that I should have kept to myself. Turned out, I had zero self-control around this woman.
“I saw you had company,” I added into the silence.
Exhibit A.
I held my breath as her expression changed, then she moved toward the island. “You watching my house, Coach?”
My knuckles knocked on the granite in a quick rhythm. “Your dad wanted me to keep an eye on you.”
“Hmm.” She hummed as she placed the sugar on the counter. “Yes. I had a visitor.”
She watched for my reaction, and it took all of my strength not to give her one.
It was silent before she decided to put me out of my misery. “Somehow Jagger’s and my debit cards got mixed up at Laces Out last night. He was just returning mine.”
Relief crashed through me and I cursed at how good it felt to know he hadn’t touched her. Because I wanted to touch her.
“You should be careful with him,” I warned.
I saw the way he moved into her space last night. Put on his typical playboy charm. I knew a player when I saw one. Hell, I was one for a time in my life and I had to leave that bar before I did something stupid. Like tell him to move the fuck on and that Trinity was mine.
“You don’t have to worry. He’s not my type.” She shook her head, causing a strand of hair to fall over her pretty eyes. “Athletes.”
“What about them?” I pressed.
“I don’t date athletes,” she stated.
I wasn’t an athlete. Not technically. Not anymore. Not that it mattered.
“There you go, judging again.” I crossed my arms, but I added a lightness to my tone.
She rolled her eyes. “I learned from firsthand experience.”
I had a sudden urge to change her mind. To show her not every man was set out to break her heart.
But I couldn’t. We weren’t just separated by this kitchen island.
The reasons keeping me from devouring her lips were more like the Grand Canyon.
Too many things keeping that gaping hole between us.
The main one being that she was a student.
And your boss’s daughter.
“Does your mom live around here?” I asked.
It was an attempt to keep me in her kitchen. Not back at my house, where all I did was try to pretend she didn’t exist.
“No. She lives in Florida.” She flared her eyes. “She wasn’t exactly thrilled about the move.”
“Right. I’m guessing she and Rodney don’t get along?”
A chuckle left her mouth. “She hates him.”
“Hate is a strong word.” I rested my palm on the counter and her eyes drifted to my forearm.
She cleared her throat and shifted. “Well, she’s never been quiet about it. I think she wanted to make sure I hated him too.” Her brows furrowed. “Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about him now.”
The honesty in her voice had me wanting to skirt this counter, but reality was still rooting me in place.
“I know there must be some bridges burned with you and Rodney, but from what I know, from my experience…” I paused for effect. “Rodney is a good man. He cares about his players. His family. Hell, he even cares about Shaw and that’s saying something.”
She canted her head back on a laugh, the sound going straight to my dick.
Yep, it was time to leave.
“Anyway.” I knocked my knuckles against the counter again. “I’ll let you get some rest. You have class tomorrow.”
Turning on my heels, I heard her snicker.
“How do you know I have class on Mondays?”
Did I already know her schedule? Yes, I did. It was pure observation. Another neighborly obligation on my part.
“Good night, Trinity,” I called.
“Preston?”
I already had the door halfway open and paused to peer back at her.
She held up the two bags of sugar. “Forgetting something?”
Apparently, the employee handbook.
“Right.”
Turning back on my heels, she met me at the threshold and dropped the bags in my hands.
“I just needed a cup,” I muttered.
“You should know by now, Coach…” Her smirk was like a punch to the chest. Quick and breathtaking. “I had a coupon.”