Almost Too Much (Steamy Small Town Forbidden #2)

1. Megan

one

Megan

I d forgotten how cold it could get during December in Briarwood Falls.

But here I was, standing amidst the swirling snowflakes under an indigo sky, clutching a cup of steaming hot chocolate and watching my little brother play football. The cheers of the crowd echoed around me, a cacophony of voices merging into a single, collective roar. I couldnt help but smile as I watched Ryan run onto the field, his face a mixture of determination and excitement.

The air was thick with anticipation, the tension palpable between the lines of players waiting for the whistle to blow.

To be perfectly honest, I didnt know much about football. Id never really cared about the game or bothered to learn much other than the basics.

It had been ages since Id even attended one of Ryans games. But something about being back in Briarwood Falls, seeing my family again, and feeling the familiar winter chill brought comfort to my soul. I shivered - the cold might bring back nostalgic memories, but it still sucked.

I zipped up my jacket, tightening it around my body.

"You ok, Megan?" My mom asked.

I glanced at her. She was fully decked out in Briarwood Bulldogs swag - red from head to toe. My mom was the football-holic in the family and had high hopes for my brothers potential future in the NFL. Was he that good? I guessed only time would tell.

I sipped my hot chocolate and frowned. It was cold already.

"Yeah," I lied. "Im fine."

"If youre cold, you can wait in the car," she offered.

"No, I want to be here for Ryan," I insisted, looking out for his jersey number on the field. 43.

As my eyes scouted the field, I noticed something much more attractive on the sidelines.

There stood a man, his figure cutting an imposing silhouette against the backdrop of the field lights. His physique spoke volumes about his dedication and hard work to stay fit. He was dressed in a blue Adidas warm-up jacket, but despite the layers, I could imagine the rippling muscles beneath.

He looked like he was in his late forties or early fifties, with a stern yet alluring face. His breaths came out in white clouds in the cold air. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his attention not leaving the players as they ran back and forth.

I watched him until halftime, almost forgetting where I was until the cold wind ruffled my long hair.

With every pass completed, every tackle made, every touchdown scored, his expression remained stoic, unchanging. This guy was serious.

I continued to watch him from afar, entranced by his confident stanceit seemed almost as if he owned the entire stadium. Despite the cold air, there was a heat emanating from him, a magnetic pull that kept me trapped.

"Who is that?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

Mom glanced over from her phone. "Oh, thats the teams head coach, Dominik Wolff. Hes a real hard ass, but he gets results."

Hard ass? I couldnt help but giggle to myself. Oh, Id like to see him hard, alright.

Wait - no. I shook my head and forced myself to look away. This guy was like twice my age. Id always had a thing for daddies, but he was literally old enough to be my dad. He wouldnt want anything to do with a college girl like me.

My eyes snapped over to him again as he blew his whistle. He was yelling at the ref about something or other. Some misplay that had half the stadium, including my mom, booing.

Id been too captivated by my thoughts even to see what happened.

When halftime finally rolled around, I wandered away from the stands to look for something warm to drink.

I figured some piping hot coffee would do the trick. I felt terrible for leaving Mom alone, but I needed to escape the frigid air and recalibrate.

I hadnt realized how chilly it had gotten when I saw that handsome coach standing on the sidelines. He seemed so unperturbed by the weather. Perhaps he was used to enduring such biting winds and frosty temperatures. I found myself admiring his resilience.

The lines at the concession stand was stupidly long, but at least it was warm here.

I clutched my hands together, rubbing them to generate warmth, but it wasnt doing much. The smell of hot popcorn, soft pretzels, and hotdogs wafted over me as the line shuffled forward slowly.

All around me people were dressed in red to support the Briarwood Bulldogs, chatting excitedly about the upcoming playoffs.

I breathed a sigh of relief when it was finally my turn.

"Thatll be three dollars," the clerk said.

I grimaced. Guaranteed that this brown water they called coffee was worth less than a third of that - but the warmth was what I was really paying for. I reached for my purse and then my heart dropped. My purse was still with Mom.

"Oh god, I forgot my purse," I groaned. How could I be so stupid?

The clerk looked at me awkwardly. "Oh."

"Never mind," I sighed.

"Its ok, I can spot you," a voice said behind me.

I turned to see a guy in his thirties with a short beard. His hat said "Assistant Coach" on it. He wore it like a proud label.

"Oh, no, its ok," I stammered.

"I got it," he insisted, slapping a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. "Coach Wolff and I will take our usuals. And Ill pay for this cuties coffee, too."

Cutie? I forced myself to take the compliment. He wasnt really my type. I was the kind of girl who liked the Offensive Lineman more than the Quarterback. I liked guys like... Coach Wolff.

"Sorry, did you say Coach Wolff?" I asked.

The Assistant Coach nodded. "Yeah, hes always too busy with his half-time speech to get coffee," he said. "Thats where I come in." He handed me my coffee and took his on a paper tray. "Well, enjoy the rest of the game."

"Yeah," I said almost too softly, looking down at my cup. I couldnt get that beast of a man off my mind as I went back to the stands.

The Bulldogs won, and my ears were still ringing from the screams of the crowd. One more win and their place in the playoffs was guaranteed.

"Im so proud of you, sweetie!" Mom cheered.

My brother groaned. "Come on Mom, no pet names, please," he wailed as he piled his sports bag into the back of the van.

"What? Whats wrong with calling you sweetie?" she laughed. Her bright red face paint was smeared from happy tears.

"Its just weird," he mumbled, not meeting her gaze.

I couldnt help but chuckle at this, recalling the days when my brother and I teased each other mercilessly. Now that we were older, things seemed different somehow. Life was changing, and with it, the dynamics within her family. It was strange to think about how fast everything was moving.

Ryan was a junior now and already well on his way to getting any football scholarship he wanted.

"Im freezing. Im going to get in the car," I said through chattering teeth. "Wait, wheres my purse?" I said.

"You dont have it?" My mom asked with a very "you should keep track of your stuff better" motherly tone.

"I thought it was with you," I gasped.

"I havent seen it since we were in the stands," she sighed. "Hurry up, go check our seats."

"Shit," I groaned as I ran back through the parking lot.

Thankfully, most of the stadium was empty now, and the cleaning crews hadnt made their way up to where Mom and I were sitting. I found my purse exactly where Id hoped - fallen between the seats.

I grumbled to myself as I dusted off the monogram canvas.

Normally Id never do something so careless, but it was that damn Coach Wolff - I couldnt get him out of my head. Throughout the whole second half of the game, I watched him more than the players.

With my purse securely under my arm, I made my way back down the stands towards the exit. I shivered, and it felt like my purse was shivering, too, because of my phone. My phone buzzed non-stop with old high school friends who wanted to meet me back in town. So far, Id met up with a few friends, but I mostly just wanted to relax.

Distracted by my buzzing phone, I turned around and went down the employee hallway, running into something as hard as a brick wall.

"Ow, fuck!" I cried out, looking up.I froze and gasped for breath.

Coach Wolff stared down at me. "Young ladies shouldnt swear."

The guy was even bigger close up - probably six foot five, with massively broad shoulders and thick muscular arms. His white t-shirt, marked with COACH across the chest, strained against his build. His dark hair was streaked with gray.

Oh God.

"Im so sorry," I gasped, staring at him. I was short. Shorter than average. My license said five foot one, and I think the lady at the DMV rounded up for me.

Coach Wolff towered over me like a beast.

"Its fine," he said, gesturing in the direction I came from. "This area is employees only," he added gruffly. His low, rumbly voice made my body squirm in the best way.

"Sorry," I squeaked again. I wondered if my face was as red as it felt. I didnt look back as I hurried to the exit, back into the biting December cold. But I knew he was watching me leave.

As we drove home, my thoughts lingered on Coach Wolff. I couldnt stop thinking about his intense stare, muscular build, and the deep timbre of his voice. I couldnt believe Id met someone like him, a person who could make me feel so much with just a glance.

"So, you coming to the game on Saturday," Ryan asked me, craning his neck around to face me from the front seat.

I smiled to myself. "Wouldnt miss it."