“No—I’m just a grown man who doesn’t need to have his ass on a haunted boat ride that is meant for children.” He’s fighting a smile.
“Well, I guess you’re going to lose this dare then. Damn, Torres. I didn’t take you for the losing type. As much as you talk about winning, this is a shocker to me.” I’m testing him now—right to his face. If I know men like Torres, I know they don’t like to be defeated.
“Oh, okay.” He chuckles, sliding his hands into his front pockets. “I see how you want to play this.”
I turn in the direction of the haunted boat ride then glance over my shoulder at him, and just as I suspect, he follows. My heart beats madly when he catches up to my side, his dark irises falling to latch onto mine.
I fight a smile, looking ahead. I didn’t think he’d take the bait.
What the hell am I even doing? Everyone knows the haunted boat ride is a two-person ride. One boat at a time goes and, most times, rides like these are for couples, especially at night. Torres and I aren’t a couple, but I have to admit that when he showed up at the bench and shared his hot dog with me, it meant a lot to me.
He could have easily ignored what happened, left the carnival, and gone about his night, but he came to check on me, despite not being all that sentimental about it. I’m glad he wasn’t. The last thing I want is his pity.
I can’t ignore how my body reacts when he’s close either. The other day, when he was rolling my ankle, I tried to play it cool as I laid on the table with his large hand wrapped around my leg. His hands were warm, and he smelled like the outdoors and a whiff of whatever manly soap he uses. I thought for a moment he was trying to resist looking at me, but he’s my coach. He was just doing his job.
Today he’s wearing a cologne and smelling even more delicious, and those damn gray sweat pants aren’t helping when it comes to denying my attraction to him. Torres is sexy and all man, and he knows it. Everyone knows it.
I’m making excuses now, trying to get him to stick around a little longer. After the haunted boat ride, that will be it.
We’re only hanging out and he’s trying to cheer me up about the situation with Stephen. There’s nothing wrong with a coach cheering up his runner, is there? Most of the people here don’t even know he’s my coach, so does it even matter?
When the ride is over, I’ll find Kendall and Janine and go about my night and let him do the same. Hell, I might even crack open the vodka Kendall brought and get drunk. It’s a simple plan, and one I’ll have no problem sticking to.
The boat ride needs four tickets and fortunately I have just enough. I hand them to the ride operator and he opens the gates for us. There’s a boat already waiting, chained to the gate, painted yellow and sky-blue. Green vines are painted on the boat as well, but the paint has chipped a bit where the vines are. I climb into the boat and slide across the seat as it sways.
When I look up, Torres is standing on the walkway on the opposite side of the boat. “You really want this to be your dare?” he asks, and I nod.
“Get your ass in this boat, Torres.” I can’t for the life of me fight my laugh as I mock him from earlier. Like a champ, he climbs into the boat, and I almost regret having him do this when I realize how long his legs are and how small the boat is. He has to bend his legs and sit up really tall to fit in, but he makes do.
The ride operator walks to the station and presses one of the buttons. A buzzer goes off and silly Scooby Doo music begins to play.
Torres rolls his eyes. “This is such a joke.”
“Shush, it’ll be fun.”
I face forward, hugging the orange dragon I won to my chest. Torres exhales as we approach the tunnel. As soon as we’re inside it, it glows in neon greens and blues, the music is louder, and the water sloshes against the boat.
“I know this isn’t your thing, but thanks for checking on me,” I say as we ride beneath a swinging cardboard ghost.
“Don’t mention it,” he murmurs. A loud witch cackle pours out of the hidden speakers. The speakers sound like they’re about to pop. Torres shakes his head. “This is ridiculous, you know.”
I bite a grin. “I know.”
“I mean, this ride was literally made for children. It says it on the poster outside. For kids 6-10.” Just as he says that, a monster with one eye and sharp teeth springs out of one of the prop boxes, coming really close to Torres’ face as we ride by.
He shoves it away. I laugh.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask in a smaller voice.
“What’s up?”
“Do you think I should have chosen a different college?”
He blinks several times before sighing and looking ahead. “No, Lakes. I don’t think you should have chosen a different college.”
“Why did you choose BU?”
It takes him a moment to respond. His gaze remains ahead. “Because I knew I deserved to be there just as much as the rest of them. I’m good at what I do. I’m a great coach. I received a lot of recognition as a coach even prior to joining BU.” He pauses. “There are just some people who are ignorant to that kind of recognition. They don’t care how good you are, they just take one look at you and feel you don’t belong—that you’ll never belong.”
“Like Foster?” My voice is even smaller.
He turns his head and his eyes lock right on mine, then he narrows them.
“I, um…I heard what you said to Foster the day of the relay race. I was looking for the bathroom and I overheard you telling her to stay away from me.”
Torres pulls his eyes away and his throat bobs as he swallows. The tunnel changes colors, going from green and blue to purple and red. “And she hasn’t bothered you since, has she?”
“Not at all. She won’t even look my way.”
“Good.”
I look down at the hand that’s on top of his thigh and place mine on top of it. His body tenses.
“I appreciate what you said to her, and for having my back.”
His head turns, but his eyes don’t meet mine. For a moment, I think he’s going to snatch his hand away and go back to the old Torres. From how his brows dip and his lips get tighter, I worry that he may be angry.
But I’m wrong.
What I don’t expect is for him to pull his hand away, only to turn mine over and clasp it in his. His hand is big and warm and completely covers mine.
I slide closer to him without even realizing it, dropping the orange dragon on the wet bottom of the boat.
Wait.
What in the hell is this? What am I doing? What are we doing?
My knees are touching his. His cologne is all consuming, filling up every single one of my senses. I turn my body just enough to lean toward him. He doesn’t move—like he wants me to make the first move. Does he?
I study his eyes. His lips. The stubble on his sharp jaw and chin. All the noise from the boat ride is muffled. None of the monsters or ghouls matter. I feel no fear right now. I only feel longing. Desire.
I lean forward, closer, closer, and he meets me halfway, and before I know it, his hand has cupped the back of my head and we’re kissing. I’m pawing at his shirt and he’s clutching a handful of my hair in his hand. This kiss is deep and aggressive, but his lips are so smooth and warm, and they devour me whole.
I can’t think about anything else but his mouth on mine, his fingers in my hair, my chest pressing to his. I become greedy and manage to climb on his lap as he twists his knees for more space. The boat rocks unsteadily, and I don’t care if we end up tipping over. Not even that will stop me from having more of him.
I moan, reckless as my tongue slips between his lips and I taste the flavor of orange on his breath. I rock on his lap and he wraps his warm hand around the back of my neck, keeping me close, and tasting my mouth too.
It’s almost too much for me—the way he touches me. The way he keeps me steady. He groans and I moan as I slide a hand under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin and his chiseled abdomen. My hands skim up to his chest,
then shoots up to the collar of his T-shirt, lightly closing around his throat. The kiss deepens.
He then releases a guttural groan, tugs on my hair, and breaks the kiss.
“What are we doing?” he breathes raggedly. His lips are red and swollen and his dark eyes hooded, filled with lust.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, still dazed. The boat bumps into the edge of a wall and we rock and sway. I suddenly feel dizzy. It didn’t even occur to me that he is my coach. I just kissed him—like I was supposed to do it. What is wrong with me?
I pull away and sit back down where I belong. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” I breathe.
Torres turns his body forward, and as he does, he adjusts his shirt, then runs his fingers through his messy hair. The end of the tunnel is near, and we don’t say a thing.
We sit in silence, waiting for the boat ride to be over, but it takes forever for the boat to rock its way toward the gates.
When we’re finally at the end of the tunnel and close to the gates, the bright lights shine on us, and we are no longer in the dark. It’s like all our secrets have come to light and we are exposed and my heart beats like a drum.
I steal a glance at Torres and he seems calm. Composed. How is he not freaking out about what we just did? We just kissed. I had my tongue down his fucking throat and he returned the favor.
The boat comes to a stop, the operator chains the boat to the steel latch in the wall to steady it, and then opens the door and I don’t even hesitate to get out. I climb over Torres to get off the boat and hurry toward the exit.
When I’m away from the boat ride, I’m consumed by the scent of funnel cakes and popcorn and beer and even though the air isn’t pure, I draw in a much-needed breath.
I take my phone out of my back pocket and that’s when I realize my hands are shaking. I’m fucking shaking. What did I just do? This is going to change so much with Torres, with practice, with training. Everything. What was I thinking?
“Lakes,” someone calls, and the voice is familiar. I turn halfway, watching Torres walk in my direction with my dragon in hand. He hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
“Sure thing. See you at practice Monday.” With those words, he walks away, his back to me and his stride casual. He disappears amongst the carnival crowd and it takes me a while to process what just happened.
He’s pretending nothing happened on the boat, meanwhile I’m freaking out about it. Practice won’t be the same and I know it…but damn, his lips on mine were everything, and as I run the pads of my fingers over my bottom lip, I can’t deny it.
Torres is a damn good kisser, and if he weren’t my coach, I probably wouldn’t feel so regretful about what just happened on that boat.
TWENTY-THREE
I’ve always been the kind of guy who makes bad choices. After my papa died, it seemed my whole life spiraled. He died the start of my junior year of college. I was once an outgoing, fun, rambunctious college kid who was looking to live life to the fullest.
Then I got the call that changed my life.
I went back home and found my mother weeping in the living room. She was alone. She had no other family. She only had me and my papa, but he was gone.
Everything changed that day. I became bitter, and resented the world I lived in. I felt deep in my heart that I didn’t deserve to be alive while he’d passed—that I didn’t deserve to have fun or live a good college life, and I became miserable.
I made bad choices with the way I spoke to people, and the way I reacted. I finished college just fine, focused on my grades, and helped train a kiddie running league, but outside of that, I was useless. My choices were poor when it came to women, to partying, to drinking and smoking.
Kissing Amber felt just like that—like a bad choice. I didn’t deserve to kiss her. I wasn’t even supposed to kiss her. I knew in my gut it wasn’t wise to get on that boat with her. What kind of coach willingly agrees to ride a boat with one of his athletes during his time off—an athlete he’s attracted to at that?
I fed into the shit I tried so hard to avoid. I fed into my need to touch her, to hold her, to have her. I went after her when she walked away from the carnival to be alone, knowing damn well it could either stay the same between us, or change everything.
And just like that, in one dark tunnel with flashing lights, everything changed. I stuck my tongue in her mouth, palmed her ass, clutched her thick hair, and it was even better than I had imagined. She climbed on top of me and I almost lost control. I wanted to rip her pants off in that very moment and have her ride my cock on that boat. When we came to, and realized that we’d fucked up, it took me a while to gather my composure. My cock was hard as hell and my mind was reeling.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging my palms over my face. I’m sitting in my car, staring at the attraction lights of the carnival. The Ferris Wheel spins round and round and I hear laughter, but nothing about this is funny.
This is serious. I saw the guilt in her eyes after she realized what we’d done—how far we had taken this. But she loved it and, hell, I loved it too. But it was wrong. Every single second of that deeply passionate, erotic-as-hell kiss was wrong. She never should have been on my lap. I should have denied her petty dare the moment she stated it because I knew what it would lead to on that boat.
We’d be secluded in the dark, sitting side-by-side, and I’d want to kiss her. For months, I’ve wanted to know if she thinks about me just as much as I think about her, and I just found out. She’s on my mind every damn day and I can’t get rid of her. I can’t shake her for the life of me. This has never happened to me before, with any woman.
I start up my car and drive through the rocky path of the parking lot. As I’m leaving, I notice three girls walking away from the carnival. It’s Ramirez, Rose, and Lakes.
Amber Lakes.
As I drive by, her eyes find mine—like she can sense that I’m still around—and our eyes latch, only for a moment. That guilt swims in her amber irises all over again and I can’t take it.
She thinks this is her fault—that she’s ruined the coach/athlete bond between us—but she’s wrong. I’ve wanted to ruin this bond from the moment I got to know her, and tonight, I completely fucked it up.
And knowing that, I look away and drive until I can no longer see the carnival lights in my rearview mirror.
TWENTY-FOUR
Never has my heart beaten so fast before.
I’m on the way to the track, Kendall, and Janine on either side of me, and all I can think about is the kiss I shared with Torres Saturday night.
“You sure you’re okay?” Janine asks me as we near the track. “Are you mad because we drank all the vodka Saturday? I’m sorry, Amber! We called you, like, three times and sent you, like, seven text messages but you didn’t pick up or respond until you found us, so we just took the shots.”
“No, I’m not mad about that,” I say quickly.
“Then what are you mad about?” Kendall asks, lightly bumping me with her arm. There’s a playful smile on her lips.
“I’m not mad at all, guys. Seriously. I’m fine. I’m just feeling kind of nauseous. I had some chicken pasta from the café and I don’t think it’s sitting too well on my stomach. I’ve been feeling like shit all day.”
“See, that’s why I don’t fuck with the food from the café,” Kendall says. “It will only give you the shits. The only good thing is their coffee and sometimes those little mini brownies they have.”
“Word,” Janine agrees as we step onto the track.
The sun is setting in the sky right now, partially hidden behind thick, gray clouds. It’s supposed to rain tonight. I can smell it coming, and if it does, we’ll most likely go to the weight room to do conditioning.
Hamilton and Foster are on the track, standing near the bench. Most of the track team is already here. The football players are already practicing.
I see Stephen throw a perfect spiraled football to one of the receivers. I look aw
ay as he throws a fist in the air, clearly proud of himself.
Stephen sent me two text messages over the weekend. I didn’t respond to either of them. I know the time will come when I have to face him, but until then, he’s not getting a word from me. Besides, I’d much rather tell him to fuck off to his face than through a text message. He’s not getting the easy way out of this.
“Ladies!” Hamilton greets us as we approach. “You’re cutting it kind of close to practice time, aren’t you?” She flips her wrist to check her watch.
“Nah. We’re two minutes early.” Kendall shrugs and begins to stretch.
“Well, looks like rain is coming sooner than we thought, so we won’t be practicing outside today. Torres and Mills are waiting at the indoor track, so we’re headed to meet them there.”
Torres’ name is enough to make my belly clench. Even his name is getting to me. I purse my lips and step sideways, trying to shove away the memories of his lips on mine, his erection digging into me through his gray sweats.
“Let’s head over.” Hamilton leads the way, and as she goes, I don’t miss the way Foster narrows her eyes at me as she passes before meeting up to Hamilton.
I roll my eyes. I am not in the mood for her shit today.
We leave the field and make our way across campus until we’re at the basketball stadium. There’s a large indoor track in the men’s weightlifting and conditioning room. Fortunately, the basketball team does drills on the basketball courts on Mondays, so we have the room to ourselves.
As Hamilton mentioned, Torres is already on the track, sporting navy blue joggers and a red T-shirt. His hair is tousled, and I can tell he didn’t put gel in it today. That same yellow whistle is hanging around his neck by a thin black rope. He doesn’t dress up much, but he honestly doesn’t have to. He looks good in athletic clothes.
Mills is standing next to him, talking animatedly with his hands. Torres doesn’t seem to be interested in what he’s talking about at all.
“Okay, ladies. Make your way to your coach. Just because it’s going to rain doesn’t mean we don’t have work to do.” Hamilton claps her hands twice and Kendall, Janine, and I part ways, but of course Kendall doesn’t go simply. She sticks her hands out at me like a toddler, pouting her bottom lip. “I’ll miss you, Lakey Lakes!”
Coach Me Page 11
