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So he believes me now? "You think? Why would they have done that?" I give him a look. This is a little strange, and it's probably nothing, but I don't like it.
"Come on, I'll walk you to the parking lot. You probably shouldn't be back here so late by yourself anyway." He offers me a smile.
I drop my resting bitch face, the look I normally reserve for him, and half smile back. He's trying to be nice; it's hard to keep hating him. "I stay late here by myself all the time, it's fine."
As we walk, I give him a sideways look, taking him in properly. He's changed from what he was wearing today and is in a T-shirt and black jeans. He looks casual and relaxed, different to what he's been here all week while we train. He's so serious, so hard to judge as our coach. Standing so close to him, I get a flashback to that night. The way he smells, so comforting and familiar, so sexy.
The man as a coach drives me nuts, but when I see him like this, I forget why.
"Why stay late?" he asks. He looks to me, puzzled. I'm not sure why he would be, though. I thought it would be obvious.
"So I can train in the quiet, focus my mind, you know."
He nods. "Yeah, I get it. I thought you might be trying to impress the new coach or something." He smirks, his brow raising. He's trying to be cheeky with me. He looks like the guy I met that night at the club. Younger and more relaxed. Why can't he be more like this all the time?
He stops when we arrive at the women's changing room. "I just want to check the lights are back on." He pushes the door open and flicks on the lights. "They're working, but I don't think this was just a tripped circuit." He stops what he was going to say, and I see why. The mirror has a note scribbled on it in lipstick.
Some of us can see what's going on even when kept in the dark. Remember who you belong to, because girls who forget find themselves in more trouble than they can handle.
"I… I don't understand." I look at Brad who seems just as confused as me. "Do you think this message is for me?"
"You were the only one back here tonight. Maybe there's something we're missing, but it would appear that someone is trying to leave you a message. Have you just split up with someone or something?"
"No, not at all, I don't do relationships. I don't get it at all. This message doesn't mean anything to me."
"Maybe it's just someone mucking around. Come on, let's get you to your car."
We enter the lot, and my hands still hold a tremble. I'm so confused about all of it. It couldn't have been a note left for me, it makes no sense. It is strange that it's exactly like the note I left for Brad the morning after we slept together, red lipstick scribbled on a mirror. I'm sure that's just a weird coincidence.
I stop walking when I arrive at my car.
"Your car's fixed?" he says, looking over my red SUV.
I lean against the door, not quite sure why I'm not just getting in and taking off, but something about him tonight makes me want to stay a little longer. It could just be the fact that I'm a little creeped out still. "Yeah, my dad took a look at it. Turns out the spark plugs weren't connected." Still not quite sure what happened there. As soon as Dad had a look under the hood, he had it worked out. The whole thing is strange. I shrug, trying to brush it off.
"That's odd… they somehow detached themselves?" His face looks etched with concern, the little frown lines he gets on his forehead more prominent. It's much the same as my dad's when he realized what was wrong with it. We did some research and there is no way they came off by themselves. If my dad and now Brad are so concerned, it makes me wonder if I should be more worried than I am about it.
"More likely someone removed them on purpose," I say, eyebrow hitched, waiting for his reaction.
He takes a step toward me, closing the gap, his face deadly serious as he assesses me.
My body reacts to him in such close proximity, my heartbeat quickening, my nipples hardening, and I get that dull throb between my legs. This isn't even a sexy conversation. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I react like this around him?
"Have you had any trouble like this before? Your stuff being messed with?" he asks quietly, his eyes never leaving mine.
I blink back at him, not sure what's going on here. "It's nothing, probably just some punk kids playing a prank or something. I'm not worried," I say, trying to brush it off. I don't want him being all concerned about it like my folks are. But I'm a little worried, I would be stupid not to be.
He rests a hand on my shoulder, in the way an older, wiser mentor type would to show their support. But something about the contact feels like it means more. His touch on my bare shoulder is almost electric. "Andy, you need to be careful. You're getting a name for yourself, and sometimes those beneath you don't take well to it. Or fans could become obsessed with you in a bad way. This sounds like a deliberate act to me. You should report it to the police. Especially now after what happened tonight. This isn't a coincidence." He looks so worried, and I can't help but wonder if his concern is because he's my coach or because he's worried about me?
I blink back at him, wondering if he's right, but dismiss the thought just as quickly. I'm no one interesting. Really, this isn't some threat against me, why would it be? "It's okay, Brad. Don't get your knickers in a knot. If anyone is stupid enough to want to be my weird stalker, I'm a big girl and I'll be able to protect myself. I'm not concerned at all, and you shouldn't be either."
His hand stays on my shoulder, his thumb brushing back and forth. His eyes don't leave mine. His stare is intense, willing me to do things I know I shouldn't. I can't, not with him again anyway. But I gaze longingly back at him just the same.
"Yeah, maybe. But I have seen stuff like this before. It starts out like a simple little thing, like a prank, then gets out of control quickly. Give me your phone."
I follow his instructions and reach into my pocket, retrieving my phone for him. Why, I don't know.
"This is my mobile number. Promise you will call me if you're ever worried for your safety." He types his number into my phone. Normally it would majorly piss me off if a guy tried to act all protective, but with Brad, I like it. Knowing he wants to look out for me is somewhat comforting. I don't even want to consider why, but it is.
