Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
I hear footsteps coming toward me but I can’t face him. I’m a failure. He knew all along. I’d stupidly believed I was going to start over at this school. Apparently not.
“Hey,” he says, his voice soft. “You okay?”
“L-Leave me alone,” I sob. “You w-were right. I’ll get my schedule c-changed in the morning.”
I’m still feeling sorry for myself when I’m scooped into his powerful arms. I make the mistake of looking into his brown eyes. That they’ve softened with concern only makes me cry harder. He holds me to him as he carries me into the side door of the gym. The school is now empty and half the lights are off. I cling to his shirt as he carries me into the boy’s dark locker room. He takes me into a small room and turns on a light. It has a table with a mat on it in the center of the room and the shelves are lined with medical tapes and gauze. He’s gentle when he sets me on the table.
“Lie back,” he instructs. “I’m going to take care of you.”
He leaves the room and reappears a moment later with two bottles of water. I mutter my thanks before chugging it down. He hands me the second bottle before rummaging through the drawers.
“I said lie back,” he barks.
I’m too exhausted to argue so I fall back and close my eyes. He’s surprisingly gentle as he cleans and dresses my skinned knees. Despite my being drenched with sweat, a shiver ripples through me at having his strong capable fingers on my bare legs. He simultaneously turns me on and pisses me off.
“How are your hands?”
“Better than my knees.” A sharp pain rips through my hamstring. “Ow.”
“What’s wrong?” His brows are pinched together in a worried manner. I like that look on him better than the asshole look.
“I think I pulled my hamstring,” I admit with defeat.
He chuckles and the sound is dark and rich. It warms me to my core. “Let’s see what you did, Emo.” He rummages around in another drawer until he locates some cream. When I point to the thigh that’s searing with pain, he nods and uncaps the tube. As soon as the cool cream touches my flesh, I let out a yelp.
“That’s cold,” I whine.
He grins at me and he’s positively adorable. I decide right then I’ll try and get him to smile more. Later. Right now, I’m dying.
“Good thing you’re tougher than shit, Emo.”
My neck heats both from his compliment and hearing him curse. “Detention,” I mock in a deep voice.
He rubs his palms together. “I do not sound like that.”
“Lake. Ocean. Whatever your name is. Stop acting like a stripper and run those hurdles,” I imitate. “Again.” I’m pretty sure I say that word in the same annoying tone he does.
“Brat,” he mutters, a grin tugging at his lips.
“Bully.” I smile back.
His palms smooth over my thigh and I let out a gasp. It’s cold but his hands seem to light me on fire. I can’t meet his gaze anymore. I’m so turned on by him touching me. If I look at him, he’ll know. With practiced efficiency, he kneads the sore muscle. I wince in pain. He lightens his touch until it’s soft and teasing. My eyes close every time his fingers brush along my inner thigh and I shiver.
“Cold?”
“No,” I whisper. “Feels good.”
He continues rubbing my thigh. My nipples harden and are pointing straight through my sports bra. I’m drenched in sweat but I’m pretty sure the wetness in my panties is all from Coach.
“You did well out there,” he says, his voice hoarse.
I crack an eye open and give him a confused stare. “What? You made me do it a million times, Coach. Then, I ate pavement.”
His fingers dig into the inside of my thigh and I let out a moan. Our eyes dart to each other’s. I’m shocked to find something dark and unreadable in his gaze. He starts to pull away and I grip his wrist.
“It hurts. Just a little bit longer,” I murmur. I know my muscle will be fine but I like how he’s touching me. It feels way too good. God, he’s trouble. Trouble is like my favorite chenille blanket. You just want to wrap up in it and roll around in bliss. Trouble is a drug I’m quite addicted to.
His long fingers brush against my thighs just under the hem of my skimpy running shorts. I bite on my lip and stifle a groan. My eyes flutter closed. He continues massaging me in a gentle but sure way.
“How’s your backside?”
My backside is fine but I lie. “Sore.”
“Roll over.”
I don’t make eye contact as I roll onto my stomach. His palms are on me again, rubbing the back of my thigh this time. My knees sting but my entire body quivers in anticipation of having him massage me. He rubs out the soreness with no rush in his movements.