Page 25 of Filled

“Don’t.”

She lifts her head. Her eyes find mine through the wet strands of hair plastered to her temples.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t apologize again. It’s done.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize.”

That stops me. My hand pauses on the strap of the medicine ball I was about to put away.

“No?”

“No.” She straightens up properly, rolls her shoulders back. There’s something different in the set of her mouth now. The panic from earlier is gone, replaced with something far more brazen. “I was going to ask if you wanted me to stay back and clean up the mats with you.”

“Brady’s on cleanup this week.”

“Brady’s not here.”

“That’s my problem.”

“Mm.” She walks past me toward the water fountain, and the way her hips sway is sinful. “Suit yourself, Coach.”

I should let her go. I should turn around, walk to my office, lock the door, and not come out until she’s left the building.

Instead I follow her.

She hears me. She doesn’t turn around. She bends at the water fountain purposefully and I have to drag my eyes off the curve of her ass and force them to the far wall.

She straightens. Wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Turns.

The wall is at her back. I’m closer than I should be. I don’t remember covering the distance.

“You’re staring, Coach.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Her chin lifts. There’s a flush high on her cheekbones that isn’t from the workout. “You’ve been staring at me since I got here.”

“Fisher.”

“Dakota.”

“Fisher.” I take half a step back. It’s not enough. I can still smell the scent of her, citrus and sweat and something underneath that’s justher. “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever this is.”

“I haven’t done anything.” Her tongue runs along her bottom lip. “I called you the wrong name. You made me run sprints. That’s all that happened.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

“Mm-hm.” She tilts her head, and the smile that ghosts across her mouth is going to ruin me. “Whatever you say, Daddy.”

My hand is on the wall above her shoulder before my brain catches up to what my body’s doing.

She gasps. Soft, that same broken little sound from the mats. My other hand comes up beside her head. Caged. Both of us are breathing too hard.