Her Filthy Coach - Page 9

“Fair enough. Well, my lips are sealed,” Georgia says, miming zipping her lips shut. “Butttt I still want to know everything. Spill, girl.”

So I do, telling Georgia everything, how good Isaac is in bed and out of it, how much I’m falling for him. It feels so good to be able to talk about him to her, and by the time we eventually head back to the others, the anxiety I’ve felt about hiding our relationship has eased a little.

I trust that our connection is strong enough to withstand whatever comes at us, and when my phone buzzes in my pocket and I see that Isaac has texted me asking if my ass is still sore or if I need another lesson, I can’t help but grin like a madwoman.

5

ISAAC

Iinhale deeply as the team takes the field, my eyes immediately finding Iris and latching onto her, unable to look away. Today’s the day—the first qualifying game to get us into the running for championships. The team is good, better than good, but I can’t help the nervous anticipation that’s curling in my gut as the game begins. They’ve worked hard, and my girl leads them fucking amazingly as their captain, but this is the first real test of their skill, and of mine as their coach.

Iris plays better than she does even in practice, dominating the field and moving with speed and agility that is unmatched by even the best player on the opposing team. The other team is decent, but within the first half of the match, it’s clear we’re better. We have Iris after all.

The admiration I have for her goes beyond the depth of my feelings for her. She’s beautiful, bratty, and sassy in the best ways, bright and rebellious and fucking addictive. She’s also an incredible player, working fluidly with her team and unafraid to take risks on the field. I couldn’t take my eyes off her if I tried, though admittedly I don’t even try at all.

Georgia makes a clean, quick pass to Iris, who impresses me by making a sharp turn—a move we’ve been working on in practice—and shooting the ball into the net. The crowd goes wild at the goal, and the team crowd around Iris and Georgia, celebrating their success. Over the tops of the team’s heads, Iris meets my gaze, grinning like the wild thing she is. I hope she can see the love I have for her in my gaze, even though I have to keep my outward reactions to the appropriate clapping and cheering for the team.

The second half of the game commences, with us two goals ahead, but the other team is on the defensive, clearly not wanting to go down without a fight. With only minutes left, both teams fight for possession of the ball, throwing their all into it. My eyes find Iris like they always do, just in time to see her make a swipe for the ball. The defense fights back, and I shout for the ref as I see the other player throw her weight into Iris.

It’s like everything happens in slow motion. The team shouts out as Iris goes down. She hits the pitch hard, her ankle twisting as she falls.

I’m up and running before I can even think about what I’m doing. I shove through the crowd of concerned players, rushing straight to my girl. She’s still down, her face twisted in pain and anger, sneering up at the girl who knocked her down.

“You bitch!” Iris yells, clutching her ankle.

“You got in the way!” the other player shouts back, but thankfully the ref intervenes before I do. There’s no way in hell I’d be able to speak to the other player professionally.

“Iris!” I call as I fall to my knees beside her, wrapping my arms around her. “Fuck, Iris. Someone get a goddamn medic!”

The seconds it takes for the medics to get to us feel like hours. When they finally arrive, they balance Iris between them so she doesn’t have to put any weight on her sore ankle. As a coach, it’s literally my job to stay and see the rest of the game through. Players getting injured isn’t uncommon, and Iris’ injury certainly isn’t bad enough to end the game early. The substitute for her position joins us on the field as the ref calls for everyone to get back into position to finish the last five minutes of the game.

It takes all my self-control not to say fuck this and rush off to find Iris, but I know she’ll be pissed as all hell if I abandon the team to go to her instead. That’s the only thing that keeps me on the sidelines, barely managing to keep my gaze on the game.

The second the game’s done, I’m moving. The team’s celebrating their win on the field, and though I know I should, I can’t bring myself to go congratulate them. Not without Iris. I jog towards the medic building and slip inside. If anyone’s looking, it’ll be damn obvious I care more about Iris than any normal coach, but I can’t bring myself to care anymore. Let them think whatever the fuck they want to think. She’s my priority, and she always will be.

The building’s so small it only takes me a second to find my girl. She’s sitting in a room so small it barely fits the bed she’s on, a metal medical fold-out contraption that’s wedged against the wall. There’s a supply cart and a chair, and barely any room to walk between them. Nobody else is in here but us.

“Why isn’t someone treating you?” I ask as I walk over to her.

Iris shakes her head at me. Even with dirt smeared on her cheek and her hair coming loose from her ponytail, she’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. “Because I’m fine, Isaac,” she laughs. “Just a twisted ankle, that’s all. Hurts like a bitch but I just need rest for the next ten days and ice. No breaks or severe injury. The medics have other people to attend to, apparently someone in the stands had an allergic reaction—far more serious than my sore foot.”

I glare at her for dismissing her own pain, but can’t hide the relief I feel knowing she’s okay. “I was so fucking worried, baby,” I say softly. She shuffles to the edge of the bed so I can wrap my arms around her, careful not to jostle her sore ankle. “I don’t know what I’d do if you were hurt…” I trail off, realizing what I was about to say.

Iris fills in for me, reading my mind. “If I was hurt the way you were?” she asks softly, with so much sweetness in her voice that my heart aches.

I nod, burying my face in her neck and breathing in the scent of her beneath the sterile smell of the air.

“I love you, Iris,” I say, surprising us both. I’ve known how I felt about her for ages, but didn’t want to tell her too soon in case she wasn’t ready. But here, realizing how worried I truly was for her, the pain in my heart at the mere thought of her being injured the way I was, I can’t hold back anymore. “I’m so fucking glad you’re okay. You’re mine to protect, mine to care for, mine to love.”

I hear a hitch of her breath, and she pulls away from our embrace. Her eyes meet mine. “I love you too, Isaac,” she breathes.

I barely let her get the last word out before I crush my mouth to hers.

In seconds, the kiss turns heated, and I groan as I claim her mouth, my tongue sliding against hers. She’s so pliant and eager for me, her hands winding around my neck to tug me closer.

“Fuck, Iris,” I groan. “I need you.”

“Take me,” she answers, her voice breathy and needy.