Page 73 of Uncoachable

My chest tightens instinctively, and a wave of heat pools low and unwelcome in my stomach.

I look away first, focusing on my clipboard. But even without looking, I know exactly where he is. It is a magnetic pull I can’t turn off no matter how hard I try. I can feel his gaze on the back of my neck, heavy and curious.

I wonder what he sees from over there. Does he see the woman who dismantled his ego in the film room? Or does he see the woman who just did a theatrical pratfall to make a toddler feel better?

I force myself to turn to a little girl who is struggling to learn her c-cuts.

Focus, Iveline. They’re just kids. He’s just a player.

The bench is empty now except for Jenna, which is exactly why she catches me off guard.

“Oh my god. You like him.”

I turn my head so fast I almost pull a muscle. “What? Who?”

Jenna gives me a look that only she can deliver—equal parts judgment, amusement, and terrifying psychic accuracy. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

I blink at her, keeping my expression as flat as possible. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jenna. I’m working.”

She snorts. Actually snorts. “Iveline, please. You went full Disney-princess-seeing-her-prince-in-a-crowded-ballroom the second you realized he was looking at you.”

“I didn’t,” I say, my voice higher than I intend it to be.

Her eyebrows rise. “You so did. You practically sparkled.”

I open my mouth, ready to shut this down with professional finality, but she’s already stepping closer, studying my face like she is collecting evidence for a trial. I force my shoulders to relax and try to slow my pulse.

Jenna leans in, lowering her voice. “You know he’s staring at you, right? Like, he hasn’t looked at the kids in ten minutes.”

My stomach drops. “He’s the captain. He stares at everyone to make sure they’re following the program.”

“Not like that,” she says in a sing-song voice.

A flicker of genuine panic sparks under my ribs. If anyone else heard her—if anyone else saw what she thinks she saw—I would be done. I wouldn’t just be reprimanded or warned. I would be finished in this league.

I swallow hard, keeping my tone as even as I can manage. “Jenna, you’re imagining things. We have a professional relationship. That’s it.”

She tilts her head, studying me with those sharp eyes. “I’m not trying to get you in trouble, Ivy. I just… noticed. It’s hard not to notice when the air gets that heavy.”

And that is what shocks me the most.

It’s not her assumption or even her accuracy. It is the fact that I believe her. I trust her not to run her mouth or twist this into locker room gossip.

I trust her not to ruin me.

“Jenna,” I say quietly, looking her in the eye. “There isn’t anything going on.”

She shrugs, clearly unconvinced but willing to let it go for now. “Okay. If you say so, Coach.”

I nod, relieved that she’s moving on—until she adds, far too casually as she turns away: “He’s still staring, by the way. Just thought you should know.”

My breath catches in my throat.

I don’t turn around. I don’t look. I already know she’s right, and I know that if I look back—even just once—I won’t be able to pretend anymore.

“Coach!” a kid yells from near the goal, saving me from the tension. “Can you help me stop? I keep hitting the wall!”

“Absolutely,” I say, skating toward him with more speed than necessary.