The nightmare of a fucking trainer.

He kept yelling at us like we were fucking children—like I didn’t know what I was doing. I knew what I was doing. I’d been playing football since the day my mom pushed me out.

Today he was on another level, shouting, barking orders, forcing us to run what felt like a million laps for conditioning. Conditioning, my bare ass. I could outrun him by miles.

And while I was running, reconsidering every life choice that led me here, she stepped onto the field.

I’d never seen her before, but the only word that hit me was wow. That was it. One syllable. And it stuck in my head like glue.

She was tall, had the longest legs I’d ever seen, and this long brown hair tied behind her back that could’ve sent me straight into a coma. She walked with this effortless confidence—like the field bent around her as she moved. And then, she walked right up to Coach.

“Dad? Mom’s asking if you wanna eat out tonight.”

Dad?

There was no way. No. Fucking. Way. I could not date Coach’s daughter.

But God, I already wanted to.