Page 56 of Uncoachable

I am the one who is supposed to maintain the boundaries.

But every time her scent hits me, my resolve crumbles another inch.

“You’re a good dancer, Moore,” she whispers, her voice vibrating against my collarbone. “I expected you to be all elbows and ego.”

“I’m full of surprises, Ivy,” I murmur back.

I pull her a fraction closer, my thumb tracing the line of her hip. I see her pupils dilate, the dark centers swallowing the blue.

This is the danger zone. This is the moment where I should let go, walk back to the bar, and order a water.

Instead, I tighten my grip.

I want to see how far she’ll let me go.

It is a terrible idea. Either way, I don’t let go.

She looks up, her eyes darker now and her lashes low. I hear the hitch in her breath when I lean in slightly.

“Is that a gasp, Coach?” I murmur, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I thought you were the one who never lost her breath.”

She lets out a shaky, frustrated laugh, her fingers tightening on my shoulder. “It’s the altitude, Moore. You’re… you’re standing too high on your ego.”

“Your heart is racing, Ivy,” I tease, my hand moving to the small of her back. I watch her eyes go dazed and dark as they search mine. “And for someone so controlled, you’re breathing like you’ve just run a marathon.”

“Shut up,” she whispers, her breath hitching again as I pull her flush against me.

If she doesn’t move in the next three seconds, I’m going to forget exactly who is paying my salary.

The room disappears. No music. No noise.

Just her.

Desire and restraint clash inside me, a warning I am already failing to heed. But then the song ends, someone shouts nearby, and a fan bumps into us.

The moment disappears.

I step away, straightening my jacket and breathing like I’ve been underwater for too long.

I catch Dean’s eyes from across the room. He’s still standing by the wall, but his posture has changed. He isn’t just scanning the room anymore; he is scanning me.

There is a look of grim recognition on his face—the look of a man who knows exactly what kind of fire I’m playing with.

He knows I’m falling.

And worse, he looks like he knows Iveline is letting me.

It is a sobering thought.

This isn’t just a bar-room flirtation. This is Iveline’s life. These people—Scottie and Dean—are her fortress. By dancing with her and touching her like this, I am trying to scale the walls of that fortress.

“You’re blushing,” she says, bringing my attention back to her.

“I am not,” I shoot back, even as my chest betrays me.

She laughs and turns to leave. The sway of her hips as she moves sets something inside me on edge, a mix of longing and frustration I can’t shake.

Cash appears, shoving a drink into my hand; I down it immediately.