Page 77 of Her Coach

The way she tucked herself against me stuck in my chest like a brand. “How does pasta sound?”

Anything with you. “Perfect.”

30

BRYNN

Lunch started out fantastic. Colton drove us out to the quieter edge of the valley, far enough from the Strip that the restaurants weren’t overrun with tourists. The Italian place he found smelled of fresh noodles and searing meats when we entered through the front door, and for the life of me, I wondered how long this place had been here. I mean, I grew up in Las Vegas, and I’d never once encountered this place.

I swear, being with Colton was a fever dream sometimes.

But when we sat down and I ordered myself a lemonade, I couldn’t help but notice that he ordered a bourbon.

After telling his team not to drink before the game tomorrow.

“So,” he said when our drinks came, “how did practice look from your angle?”

I watched him raise the glass to his lips and his throat bobbed once. Twice. Three times, before the glass moved away from his lips.

“I didn’t know teams made a habit out of drinking before the games,” I blurted out.

He paused, studying my face as he stretched out in his seat a bit. “The team, yes.”

That caught my attention. I tilted my head. “You don’t consider yourself part of the team?”

He shook his head. “Coaches are always separate and apart from teams. We rally the team, but sometimes we have to operate outside of it as well. Like a figurehead.”

“A figurehead that does what the team isn’t supposed to do before a game?”

His eyes darted in between mine. “If the drink bothers you⁠—”

I shook my head and cut him off. “It’s not that it bothers me. It’s just…”

He leaned forward at my silence and placed his hand over mine. “It’s just… what?”

His squeeze of reassurance helped me to realize that maybe he wouldn’t be upset if I said something. After all, this thing between us was new. Hell, I still wasn’t sure if it was just a fleeting, passing fantasy, or something more than that. I wanted it to be more, but the truth of the matter was we’d only had one date. Well, two.

Is this one three?

“Brynn,” Colton said.

His voice pulled me out of my mind, and I blurted out the question before I could think. “I just wonder if you’ve always felt this unimportant in your job, or if this is a new thing since… you know, everything that went down.”

“Would you like another?” the waitress asked as she walked up to us and pointed to his empty bourbon glass.

Colton stared at it for a while before nodding his head, and I hated how disappointed I felt. It wasn’t the drinking that was the problem. It was how he viewed it. Why he saw it that way.

Did he really not think he was part of his own team?

“Colton,” I said softly.

He cleared his throat and waited for his drink to come back before he took a long swig. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t this much of a drinker until my divorce.”

I wanted to comment and interject, but I didn’t. I bit down onto my tongue and gave him the space to process and talk like I knew he needed.

Much like what he’d done for me on our first date.

Second date?