Chapter 7
SEVEN
LUKE
Practice is pain. And not in a metaphorical sweat is weakness leaving the body kind of way. My thighs ache. My lower back twinges every time I push off the line. My entire ass feels like it’s filed a complaint with HR.
But do I show it?
Hell no.
I jog, I banter, I flirt, and I test every single nerve Silas Gray might have under that sculpted, bossy exterior.
“Damn, Luke,” Will calls as I drop into a cut and sprint back through the cones. “You’re running like you stole something.”
I flash a grin, breath catching just enough to make it sound dirty. “Stealing hearts left and right. Gotta stay in shape for the getaway.”
Will groans. “You’re such a slut.”
“And proud of it,” I shoot back, winking as I jog past.
Ty snorts and rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
But I don’t miss the sound that comes from Silas. A low, unmistakable growl in the back of his throat.
Barely audible.
But very, very real.
Silas’s whistle snaps through the air a second later.
“Maddox.”
Just my last name. Nothing else. It sends a shiver of awareness down my spine.
I slow, turning with exaggerated innocence. “Yes, Coach?”
His jaw tightens. “Focus. This isn’t a social hour.”
A few guys snicker. Will coughs to hide a laugh. Ty mutters, “Ooo, someone’s in trouble.”
I hold my hands up. “Just keeping morale high.”
“Your job is to run routes,” Silas says flatly. “Not your mouth.”
Oh. That tone. Is it too early to say I like that tone?
I nod, all compliance. “Got it.”
I turn back toward the drill, falling into position beside Micah. He gives me a sideways glance, amused.
“You’re gonna get murdered,” he murmurs.
I lean closer, dropping my voice. “You see how mad he gets? I think the new coach has a crush.”
Colton chokes on a laugh. “Luke—”
“What?” I whisper, grinning. “You don’t yell at someone like that unless you’re feeling something.”
That’s when Silas snaps again. “Maddox.” Louder this time. Enough that the whole group stills.
I look back, eyebrows raised.
“You want to continue to show me why you should be bumped down to second string,” he asks, voice edged with steel, “or you want to prove why you’re starting Running Back?”
Colton and Micah straighten immediately. I do too—mostly.
“Route,” Silas continues. “Now. And if I hear one more word out of you that isn’t a play call, you’re running until I get bored.”
Oh. He’s mad mad.
I bite back a smile and nod. “Yes, Coach.”
As I jog into position, I feel his stare burn into my back like a brand. I like the attention. And if I’m going to suffer through practice sore, exhausted, and sleep-deprived, I might as well enjoy myself.
Practice drags after that.
Or maybe it doesn’t and I’m just hyperaware of every clipped command Silas throws across the field, every time his gaze skims me without pausing. He doesn’t call me out again, doesn’t snap or growl, just runs the rest of the drills with mechanical precision and zero tolerance.
He’s all business. Which, if I’m being honest, kind of makes it worse.
Because it’s hot.
Unfairly hot.
Hey, don’t blame me, I always want what I can’t have, and he’s making it clear that he’s not available.
I listen—for the most part. I run clean routes, catch every ball Colton throws my way, and even manage to keep my mouth shut during conditioning. Mostly.
By the time the final whistle blows, my muscles feel like overcooked spaghetti, but I’m still upright. Still keeping my grin firmly in place. You won’t catch me down.
Silas doesn’t dismiss us right away. He waits until everyone’s gathered at midfield, his arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses still on, jaw clenched in a way that probably scares freshmen and fuels my more questionable fantasies.
“That’s it for today,” he says. “Hit the locker room. Cold soak for anyone who wants to keep their legs from locking up.”
Everyone starts to break apart, a collective groan rising from the group. I move to follow—
“Maddox,” he says. “Stay back.”
I freeze. A few heads turn. Will raises an eyebrow. Colton mouths What the fuck did you do now, and I offer a one-shoulder shrug that doesn’t help.
Micah gives me a half-hearted pat on the back as he walks past. “Good luck, slut.”
“Thanks, babe,” I call after him, before turning back toward Silas.
The field empties quickly. Just me and him now. And the moment stretches. He hasn’t said a word.
Just stands there, whistle long forgotten, chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Sunglasses still on. Still unreadable.
I cock an eyebrow, breaking the silence with a smirk that’s more defense mechanism than charm. “Need something, Coach? I’m pretty wiped from drills, but I might be able to—”
“No.”
The word slices through my sentence, sharp and final.
He takes a step forward. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I can smell the ghost of sweat and soap and something that might still be me on his skin.
“You need to forget about last night,” he says. “It doesn’t matter now. Nothing can come of it.”
I blink.
Then I snort—loud and a little incredulous. “Wow. That’s dramatic.”
He doesn’t react.
So I lift one shoulder again, laughing under my breath. “Relax, Coach. That’s usually how a one-night stand works.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and I really would love nothing more than to lick it. Practice is going to be hard, pun intended, with him as my offensive coach. Because it was a one-night stand, but it’s one that I would repeat, which is saying something.
I half expect him to turn and walk away.
But he doesn’t.
He just stares, silent behind those sunglasses, as though he’s waiting for me to take my words back. Like he’s not convinced I’ll let this drop.
Which is probably fair.
Because I’m not sure I will.
He doesn’t move.
Just stands there like a statue sculpted out of tension and misplaced restraint, lips pressed tight, jaw clenched, arms crossed over that stupidly broad chest like he’s trying to hold himself together.
“Anything else, Coach?” I ask, tone sugar-sweet and shameless. “Or should I go hit the showers before the water runs cold?”
Still nothing.
Then finally, finally, he speaks.
“You’re dismissed.” Cold. Flat. Official.
It should be the end of it. But I can’t help myself.
I take a step closer, just to be a menace. “Sure you don’t want to supervise? I take direction so well.”
His jaw ticks again, and this time I’m almost certain he grits something in Spanish under his breath.
I grin and start walking backward, still facing him. “Catch you later, Coach Gray,” I say, dragging out the vowels.
He doesn’t respond.
But his shoulders tense, and that’s all the confirmation I need.
I turn on my heel and stroll toward the locker room, still sore, still smug, and absolutely certain that whatever this is?
It’s not over.
Later that night, I’m half sprawled across the couch, a bottle of Gatorade balanced on my stomach and my ass still registering a formal complaint with the universe.
Ty’s floor fan is aimed directly at me like a personal salvation, and the scent of pizza and sweat and bruised pride hangs heavy in the air.
“I’m never running stairs again,” Will groans from the armchair, one foot propped on the coffee table, a heating pad tucked under his thigh. “I’m retiring.”
“You’re twenty-one,” Daniel points out dryly from the floor. “You can’t retire from something you don’t get paid for yet.”
“Watch me.”
Micah cackles and lobs a pillow at Will’s head. “If we’re lucky, Coach Gray’ll retire you next practice.”
That earns a round of oohs and laughter. My stomach flips, but I keep my expression locked on casual, even as I toss a red shell at Colton’s kart.
“Don’t be jealous that the new coach wants me,” I say airily. “I can’t help it if I’m charming.”
Colton, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Micah’s beanbag like some kind of golden boy gremlin, doesn’t look up from the screen. “He wanted to bench you, not bend you.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, feigning innocence. “I’ve seen that vein in his neck twitch. That’s not disinterest, babe. That’s barely restrained desire.”
Ty nearly chokes on his soda. “You’re gonna die on that field.”
“If I die,” I sigh dramatically, “it better be under Coach Gray.”
“Please stop,” Daniel mutters.
“Never.”
Micah snorts from where he’s half-laid out on the beanbag chair. “You’re playing with fire, Luke.”
I shrug, thumb mashing the boost button. “Fire’s hot. So is Coach Gray.”
Colton groans. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” I say sweetly, “you still invited yourself over for pizza and Mario Kart, didn’t you?”
“Only because Micah begged,” Colton mutters, dodging a shell with practiced ease.
Micah grins. “Guilty. I missed you this summer and needed to see you in your natural habitat, Luke. Half-naked, overly dramatic, and deeply inappropriate.”
“I am multifaceted,” I say with mock offense, stretching one leg off the couch like I’m posing for a calendar shoot. “I contain multitudes.”
“You contain something,” Will mutters.
“Don’t say it,” Ty warns, eyes flicking from his half-eaten pizza to Will. “Don’t you dare.”
Will smirks. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You were gonna,” Ty says, leaning back against the wall. “You were gonna drop it like a grenade and then pretend it was casual.”
Colton pauses the game. “Drop what?”
Silence.
I don’t even flinch. Just keep sipping my Gatorade and mashing buttons as though I’m not actively waiting to see which one of them caves first.
Will’s eyes gleam, and he pauses the game. “Fine. Whatever. But if he’s gonna flirt with Coach Gray in front of God and everyone, I feel like it’s relevant information.”
Micah sits up. “Relevant how?”
Ty exhales. “Luke slept with him.”
Three things happen at once.
Daniel chokes on his soda.
Colton makes a strangled noise that might be part scream, part gasp.
Micah just blinks. “What?”
Will throws up his hands. “Told you he was gonna drop it!”
Ty shrugs. “You paused the game. It felt like the right time.”
“You slept with Coach Gray?” Colton says, pointing at me like I’ve committed a war crime. “When did that happen?”
“Last night,” I admit.
“Shit,” Micah mutters. Colton rubs a hand down Micah’s bare leg as if he’s soothing him, but it is probably to sooth himself. He might not be a true golden boy anymore, but the shoe still fits, and sleeping with our new Coach probably tops the list of things not to do.
“What if this screws up the whole season?” Colton asks.
“It won’t. Gez, I might be the queen of drama, but I’m not going to screw up our games.”
“Dang, and I thought Eli hooking up with our athletic trainer was a bold move—you’ve just topped it with this,” Daniel says, wide-eyed.
I grin, unbothered. “What can I say? Go big or go home.”
“You are home,” Ty mutters. “Which is wild, considering how much Coach Gray wrecked your ass last night.”
Micah lets out a sharp laugh. Colton groans into his hands.
“Too far,” Will says, even as he’s clearly trying not to smile.
“No such thing,” I say sweetly, swinging my legs off the couch and grabbing another slice of pizza. “Besides, it’s not like he knew I was a player either. It was mutual anonymity. Very modern romance of us.”
Colton looks like he’s aged ten years in the last five minutes. “This is not romance, Luke.”
“Oh, I know,” I say, biting into the crust. “It’s way hotter.”
Micah whistles low. “You’re really not even a little sorry, are you?”
I shrug. “Why would I be? It was good. Like, really good. And I don’t do regrets.”
Daniel snorts. “Yeah, you do people instead.”
“That too.”
Colton turns to Micah, resting his head back against his boyfriend’s knee like he’s seconds from cardiac arrest. “Please tell me you’ll never sleep with a coach.”
Micah hums. “I don’t know. That swim coach is kind of—”
“Micah.”
“I’m kidding. Relax. You’re the only one for me. Besides, I'm not the one who needs a leash.”
Will tilts his head. “Actually, Luke probably wouldn’t mind one.”
“Y’all are obsessed with my sex life,” I say, brushing crumbs off my shirt. “It’s giving jealousy.”
“It’s giving reckless,” Colton shoots back. “What if he benches you out of spite?”
“He won’t,” I say, with more confidence than I probably deserve. “Coach Gray’s a lot of things, but he’s not unprofessional.”
“And if he starts acting weird?” Daniel asks.
I smirk. “Then I’ll just have to act weirder.”
“Please don’t,” Will mutters.
“No promises.”