6. Chapter 6
Chapter six
~ZED~
By the time I leave the gym, my cock is still half-hard, pressing uncomfortably against my pants. It’s already starting to feel like punishment by the time I shove through the corridors and head toward the main exit.
The building is almost quiet. Most of the staff have cleared out, the hum of the place dimmer, reduced to the low pulse of lights overhead and the occasional echo of a door shutting somewhere far off.
My gym bag hangs from one hand, my car keys are in the other.
Sweat’s drying cold over my back and chest under my shirt, and none of it is doing a damn thing to cool me off.
Because I can still remember her soft skin under my finger. That frantic little gasp she made before she swatted my hand away. I barely touched her, and my body treated it like fireworks on New Year’s Eve.
The best part is that she came to me. Again.
That sweet little pattern is starting to settle in nicely.
She keeps finding me when she’s worked up, then acting scandalized by the fact that I’m there when she arrives.
I haven’t had to do much except stand still and let her walk over angry.
And then tonight she gave me more than I expected.
‘You implied it.’
Of course I implied it. What the fuck else would I mean?
A polite favor?
Please.
I wanted to know where her mind would go when I nudged it. That was the point. And she walked right where I wanted her to because some part of her is already standing too close to the same edge I’m looking over.
I asked her what she’d give me in return, and she came up with sex. That wasn’t me. That was her. And fuck, I loved watching her realize it.
Like she wasn’t warning me off something she’d clearly already pictured enough times to need to say it aloud.
What’s got me lit up and curious right now is the fact that she doesn’t want to want me.
My snowflake has some teeth. Not enough to bite me yet, but enough to bare them at me lately.
Underneath all of that is pure fucking heat.
She’s at that delicious stage where she’s still trying to hold on to decency.
I’m the thing she’s trying to outrun before it gets her.
There’s a version of this where I do the healthy thing.
Keep my distance and let it fade. I don’t think I’m capable of it when it comes to this girl.
This isn’t just me being in heat. It’s not even lust on its own, though God knows there’s enough of that to choke on.
This is interest and curiosity I haven’t felt in a long time.
I mean, I’m going to the fucking camp. I’d suffer through every minute of that ridiculous little weekend just to watch how she reacts with me there.
I look down at the front of my pants and adjust myself with a muttered curse.
If she knew what was actually in my head, she’d never come near me again. This would be easier if I stopped talking in circles and just decided to take the straight line through.
But I’m not stupid. Too much too soon and I lose the game before it gets fun. Besides, she keeps telling on herself just fine without my help.
Voices drift up ahead near the glass doors of the lounge, making my eyes finally focus. I slow when I make out their faces.
I stop a few feet short of the corner and look through the gap where the hallway opens toward the side exit. Lilly’s standing near the doors with her bag over one shoulder, face turned up toward Coach, and he’s too fucking close again.
“Come on. We’ll go to my place, have some dinner, then I’ll drop you off.” He has one hand on her upper arm, his head bent toward her.
My grip closes harder around my bag. She says something too low for me to catch.
He’s taking her home?
To do fucking what?
My mind takes the worst route immediately and with disgusting confidence.
He’s taking her home to feed and fuck her.
This is bad. This is beyond fucking bad. The center of me turns murderous.
I stay where I am, half-hidden by the wall, straining to hear what I hope is Lilly telling him to go shove it up his ass.
“I still think it’s a bad idea.” Lilly shakes her head, frustrated. “And your homemade pasta won’t change that.”
She’s saying no. Good.
That doesn’t change the fact that she knows how good his home-cooked pasta is.
“Lilly, it’s just for a little bit.”
She exhales sharply and shifts her bag higher on her shoulder. Their voices keep dropping in and out, pieces reaching me and then disappearing again in the open quiet of the hallway.
“It’s your call,” she says finally, shrugging.
“It is.” Coach nods and steps closer. “He won’t cause trouble.”
He? Is he talking about me? Because if he is, that statement is laughably incorrect. I’ll cause him more than trouble if the conversation doesn’t end the way I want it to.
Lilly looks annoyed now, properly annoyed, not uncomfortable.
I’m already halfway to stepping in, already feeling the first hard edges of it in my hands, when Lilly speaks.
“It’s your house. You do what you want, but I still think he needs to sort it out on his own, Dad.”
Dad.
Everything in me stops, and I freeze in place. The whole picture rearranges itself in one second. The hallway, the hand on her back, the arm around her shoulders, the looks, the familiarity...
He’s not some older bastard sniffing around her.
My Coach is her fucking father.
I stand there staring at the two of them. My brain feels like it just missed a step on the stairs.
That’s her father. Not a man taking her home to do God knows what with her. Just a father arguing with his daughter about whoever the hell “he” is and whether he should move into the coach’s house.
And right on the heels of that relief comes the second thing. The realization.
I’ve spent days building murder charges around a man for talking to his own child.
I’m a fucking idiot. A jealous, deranged idiot.
I drag a hand over my mouth and stare at the floor for a second.
Fantastic.
Good to know I’m not handling this badly. I’m handling it like a complete lunatic.
Up ahead, Lilly says something else I miss, and Coach’s expression shifts into something familiar and absolutely paternal now that my brain has been forced to put the pieces in the right order.
He reaches for her shoulder again. This time it doesn’t land like a knife in my ribs. It lands like a slap to the back of my own stupid head. I let out one low, humorless laugh and shake my head.
Once the insanity settles, one thought rises right back to the top where it belongs.
Now, I not only know who she is. I know exactly whose she is. Coach’s little girl. I should probably take that as a reason to back off. A sign that this is where I stop.
Coach digs into his pocket and pulls out his keys.
“Go wait in the car,” he tells her. “I need to grab something from my office. I’ll be right there.”
Lilly takes them with a look that says she still thinks whatever they were arguing about is stupid, but she doesn’t push again. She mutters something under her breath, turns, and heads out through the doors. I watch her go.
A few seconds ago, I was one bad assumption away from wanting to put my fist through my coach’s teeth. Now Coach is no longer competition. He’s a gate. And I’d rather he stop thinking I’m the kind of guy who’d carry a can of gasoline into his daughter’s life.
He turns back toward the hallway that leads to his office.
Perfect.
I start walking too, timing it just right so we meet at the corner like it’s chance.
He slows when he sees me, some of the easy neutrality leaving his face on instinct, guarded enough that I know I haven’t imagined the way he’s looked at me lately.
Fair enough.
“Coach.”
“Mercer. You’re here late.”
I stop in front of him and make myself look exactly like what I need to look like.
A man trying.
“I was actually looking for you,” I say.
That gets his attention. “You found me.”
And here we go.
I drag a hand once over the back of my neck, eyes dropping for half a second.
“I wanted to apologize,” I say.
That surprises him. He’s never heard those words lined up in that order with my name anywhere near them.
“For the other day,” I go on. “In your office.”
He looks up at me through assessing, narrowed eyes.
“I came in hot,” I say. “Took something the wrong way, and you caught my attitude for it.”
That part is true, technically.
His expression shifts, less guarded now, more curious. I hold his gaze just long enough, then break it again, willing myself to look apologetic.
“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
Coach studies me for a second. He’s not stupid. So I don’t overperform it. The trick with this kind of thing is to let the truth carry enough weight that the lie doesn’t have to sweat.
“Wow.” He finally exhales slowly through his nose. “Didn’t expect that.” That earns me the faintest shift at the corner of his mouth.
“You were asking for ten minutes on the ice. That’s not exactly an unreasonable request.”
“No,” he says, careful now.
“I had my reasons for reacting the way I did,” I say. “But that doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
Also true. I shift my weight, letting a beat sit there.
Coach’s face eases.
“Well,” he says after a second, “I appreciate you saying that.”
He looks at me a little differently now. Less like he’s bracing for impact, more like he’s trying to reconcile this version of me with the one who nearly bit his head off in his office.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, stepping closer to me, “I know you’ve got your reasons for not wanting anything to do with skating with kids. I shouldn’t have pushed like I did.”
“I’m trying.” I glance down the hall toward the rink and then back at him.
“I appreciate that,” he says. “And for the record, I’m glad you came to say this. I’m happy to put it behind us.”
“I’d like that.” I nod. “And... I’ll be there.”
He stops, confusion crossing his face.
“Camp,” I clarify. “I’ll do it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.” I nod.
The reaction is immediate and bigger than I expected. His hand comes down hard on my shoulder, a solid clap that would’ve sent half the younger guys in this building off balance.
“Mercer,” he says, and there’s real approval too. “That’s great.” Coach is smiling now, the kind that reaches his eyes.
He gives my shoulder another firm squeeze before letting go.
“You being there is gonna mean a lot to these kids.”
Maybe.
But what I care more about is being where his daughter is.
“I might not... you know, be that involved, but I’ll be there,” I say with a shrug, hoping it’s enough to let him know I’m not doing shit with these kids.
“You’ve got no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,” he goes on, shaking his head once with a huge smile. “Really.”
I lower my eyes briefly, just enough. “Appreciate that.”
“All right. I’ll see you in the morning?”
“See you then, Coach.”
He turns toward his office.
I watch him go with my gym bag hanging from one hand and my keys in the other, my face arranged into something neutral now that he can’t see it.
Well.
That went beautifully.
The Miami night is cool enough that I rest my forearm on the open car window, cigarette burning between my fingers.
I take a slow drag, hold it in, then let the smoke roll out into the dark.
The white cloud clears enough to give me a good view of her again.
Framed in the soft light of her bedroom window, wrapped in nothing but a white towel, hair still damp from the shower.
She’s moving around her room, no idea she’s got an audience.
I tilt my head, just enjoying being near her. Even if it’s only visual for now.
I’ve been driving to Lilly’s house occasionally ever since I snapped that photo of her file.
It’s fucked up.
It’s not like me.
It’s crossing a line.
I know exactly how wrong this is. I’m parked down the street, smoking in the dark, hard as a rock just from the sight of her moving past her window.
The cigarette burns down another inch while I study her. The way the towel clings to the curve of her ass when she bends to grab something. The strip of bare thigh that flashes every time she shifts.
My cock throbs against my thigh, heavy and impatient. But I don’t touch it. I just let the ache sit there.
I take another drag, letting the smoke curl around my thoughts. I watch her drop the towel for half a second before I reluctantly close my eyes. I don’t deserve to see her naked yet. I’m already stealing enough by being out here. I’m not taking that too.
When I see her naked, she’s going to know I’m looking.
I wait a few seconds and open my eyes again. All I see is her bare back and shoulders, but it’s enough. I almost want her to see me. To call out to her in my mind, willing her to turn around and catch my gaze. That’ll teach her to close her fucking curtains next time.
I flick the cigarette out the window and watch the ember die on the pavement as she reaches for something on her dresser. I’m getting hard just from watching her exist. My hand drops to my cock without thinking. I palm myself through my pants, squeezing once, feeling how hard I already am.
I never thought I’d get this worked up over something so ordinary. A girl in her own bedroom doing nothing special. But here we are.
And I’ve got no interest in fighting it.
She slides a thin tank top over her head, her nipples faintly visible through the fabric when she turns sideways.
My grip tightens. I stroke myself once, slow and firm, letting the fantasy play out in my head.
I almost give in. Almost pull it out right here in the car and let my imagination run while I watch her.
But then the disgust hits. A sharp, cold pulse that cuts straight through the heat.
No.
That kind of release is weak. I don’t sit in cars jerking off over women through windows like a pathetic virgin who can’t get the real thing.
I might be crossing a line by being here. But I’m not a loser who settles for stolen scraps and fantasies. If I want something, I take the steps to make it real.
So I stop.
My hand’s still on my cock, but no longer moving. I kill the fantasy before it can finish and let the ache settle deep and painful in my balls.
I stay another long minute, breathing slow, letting the arousal burn through me like good whiskey.
Then I start the engine.
When I finally get my hands on her, it won’t be from a fucking sidewalk with her unaware I’m looking.
She’ll know I’m there.
She’ll want me there.
And she’s going to feel every single second of what I held back.