Page 201 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter

The water kisses my lips and nose, my chin. He pushes me down as I come. My fingers flex, my muscles shake. It takes everything in me to keep holding my breath.

He stills inside me, his dick pulsing. My lungs cry for air, the burn somehow creating more fire along my skin where he’s touching me.

And then he releases me entirely. He moves back, and I straighten. My hair around my face is soaked. My shirt. I lean on the sink and look at him in the mirror. But he’s already turning away from me. The profile of his sweatshirt, the hood pulled low, obscures his face.

“Stop.” My voice is raspy, and I have to slick water out of my eyes. “Just—stop.”

He chuckles. Low. Harsh.

I yank up my panties and leggings, but by the time I’ve righted myself—he’s gone.

sixty-one

sydney

It takes me an unfortunate amount of time to put myself back together. I pull my hair up into a long ponytail, ignoring the fact that it still looks wet around my face and past my ears. I took my shirt off and dried it as best I could under the hand dryer.

My jacket is back with the guys. So I just need to get it to a point where I can comfortably get back to them without drawing unwanted attention.

It’s a good thing I didn’t put makeup on today.

I shake my head at myself. I cleaned up the mess that L. left on my skin, and now I just feel caught between empty and fulfilled.

I proved him right. That shouldn’t mean anything, though. I knew he was right from the beginning, as soon as he said I didn’t want to know who he is. Knowing complicates things. I’m already struggling with three guys, how the hell could I add a fourth to the mix?

So, no.

Maybe this will convince L. to leave me alone altogether.

Not that I want that. But how long can I keep it up with him?

How much can we interact when it’s all digital and secrets?

How close can I get to him when he tells me nothing?

My heart hammering, I head out. The period must’ve just ended, because people are flooding out of the tunnels through to the seating. I wait against the wall for an opening, then slip back through and down the steps to our seats.

I drop into my chair between them and blow out a breath.

They both look at me.

“What?” Defensive. I try not to wince or go back on it.

Oliver squints, but he shakes his head. “Nothing… You okay?”

“Perfectly fine,” I grumble.

Penn chuckles. “You sure, princess? You seem…”

“I don’t really want to talk about how I look,” I say. “I just want to watch the rest of the game.”

Which is only a slight problem, seeing as how we’ve got about twenty minutes until the next period starts. I sink lower in my seat and shrug on my jacket, zipping it up to my throat.

Oliver puts his hand on my thigh.

I look over at him, my eyes widening.

He glances at me with a small smirk. Especially when his hand inches higher.