Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 14775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 74(@200wpm)___ 59(@250wpm)___ 49(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 14775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 74(@200wpm)___ 59(@250wpm)___ 49(@300wpm)
On my first day working at Crestview College, the captain of the women’s soccer team, Iris Reed, turns up late. I need to show the team that I won’t put up with any slack, so I hold her back to run drills until she learns her lesson.
But Iris isn’t just another player.
She’s in a league of her own.
She gets under my skin, draws me in in a way nobody else ever has.
From that first day, it’s clear to me.
She’s not just a player I have to coach.
She’s mine.
We can’t stay away from each other, and she brings out a possessive side of me I didn’t even know existed.
But will our relationship put my job and her dream of going pro when she graduates in danger?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
ISAAC
Crestview College stares down at me as I get out of the car, hoisting my bag onto my shoulder. I exhale, straightening my spine as I head to my new office. Today’s my first official day as coach of the Crestview women’s soccer team—a team that I’ve been told is raring up to win the championships in a few months. Well, they would be if they had a decent coach to push them the way they need to be pushed to achieve it.
That’s why I’m here after all.
I make my way down the halls, noting the display cases full of the students’ achievements over the years, to my office. It’s pretty quiet, already mid-morning so most of the other staff members and students are in class. I appreciate the quiet before the chaos, though.
My office is in the building closest to the pitches and sports center and is pretty small. That’s fine, given that most of my work will be done outside anyway. I set my bag down on the empty desk, unzipping it and unpacking what little I brought with me. A few notebooks and folders, a tablet for filming practices and taking notes on the field…
I pause as my fingers close around the final thing—the only piece of decoration I brought to hang in the office. Slowly, I hold it up, the edges of the wooden frame digging into the palm of my hand as I grip it. My throat feels tight, but my eyes are dry as I stare at the image behind the glass. My own face stares back at me, muddy and sweaty, a grin so wide my eyes are crinkled. My hands are in the air, my body crushed between the bodies of my team. I can practically hear the cheers and excited shouts even now.
The memory is as happy as it is devastating. My chest burns with a mixture of emotions. My hand is steady but my knuckles are white with how hard I’m holding the photo. It’s the last competitive game I ever played, the game that won us our college championship six years ago.
My jaw clenches as I set the photo down beside the computer, as motivation or as a reminder, I can’t be sure. Regardless, it feels important to have with me. If nothing else, it’s visual proof of the reason I do what I do. Coaching is a job, sure, but it’s also the only way I get to stay connected with the game I’ve loved all my life. It’s a passion. It’s in my very blood.
I have a reputation as a strict, no-nonsense coach. And if I’m honest, the reputation is accurate. I might not win any popularity contests among my players, but nobody can deny that I get results. I don’t care if they like me. I care that they listen to me. I care that they win.
Which is something the Crestview team is about to learn.
I glance at the clock, realizing I have ten minutes until I’m supposed to meet the team on the pitch. I head out, wanting to get there early to set the standard I expect the players to hold.
Thanks to my office being so conveniently placed, it only takes me five minutes to get to the pitch, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find that a few of the team are already there waiting for me.
I give them a nod as they introduce themselves, waiting until the rest of the team arrives before I introduce myself properly. By two minutes past the hour, there are twenty-four players in front of me. One missing. Irritation slides over my skin, but I begin my introduction all the same.
“Nice to meet you all,” I begin, nodding at the players before me. “I’m Coach Thomson and I’m here to make sure that Crestview makes it to the championships this year. Our first qualifying game is in less than a month, so I need to know what we’re working with. Today, you’ll be running through a series of—”
The sound of feet hitting the earth as someone runs over interrupts me. I glance to the side, finding my missing player rushing over with an entirely unapologetic smile on her face. Her blond hair is tied out of her face in a messy ponytail, and her outfit is crinkled and bunched like she’s just tugged it on. Her shorts hit her mid-thigh, revealing tanned, toned legs speckled with bruises. Her t-shirt is too big on her, the neckline dipping to reveal the curve of her sports bra beneath.
My narrowed gaze sweeps over her, taking in every detail. My heart thumps hard against my ribs, and the irritation I felt at her interruption wars with raging desire.
Who the fuck is this girl? And why does my whole body react to her?
“Oops, sorry!” the woman calls out with a bright, cheery voice as she falls into place beside the rest of the team. Her cheeks are a little flushed from running over, but her smile stays in place even as I glare at her.