Page 44 of The Fall

I guess my tone isn’t as friendly as I wanted it to be because she asks, “Are you upset about something?”

I lean my head against the wall and groan. I know I’m not sober enough to be having this conversation with her. Yes, I’m upset about something. I shouldn’t be, but I am.

“I wish it was me,” I mumble into the wall.

She takes a step forward. “What?”

“I wish it was me,” I repeat a little louder.

“You wish what was you?”

“I want to be the one you use when you need it,” I admit, still not able to look at her.

“What?” she chokes out. “I don’t use anyone. Max and I have a mutual understanding.”

Her tone sounds off, and I realize it’s because she thinks I’m judging her. But that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

“Savannah.” Her name sounds more like a moan, and once again, my brain is screaming that I’ve had too much to drink to be having this conversation. “It’s not a bad thing.”

“You sure? Sounds a little like you’re slut shaming me.”

“No. No. No. You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand.”

“I want it to be me. I want to be the one making you come. I want to be the one you trust with your body.”

“Logan, I⁠—”

“I know. I’m your coach. You hate me. This is so inappropriate.” I curl my hand into a fist and bang it on the wall. Hopefully, the room next to me is empty. Just add it to my list of stupid decisions. “I’ve had too much to drink and shouldn’t be saying any of this.”

She grabs my hand and pulls me off the wall. I must look like a mess to her.

“Come on, Coach,” she whispers. “Let’s get you to your room.”

She leads me a little further down the hall. My room is actually right across from hers, which we found out earlier after practice.

I regretfully let go of her hand to get my room key out of my wallet. I hand it to her, and she opens the door, pulling me inside.

“What do you wear to bed? Do you have pajamas?” she asks as she walks toward my bag I left in the corner earlier. Is she planning on helping me get ready for bed?

“No. Just my boxers.”

She stops moving, pauses for a second, and then slowly turns back to face me.

“Ok then. Let’s get you ready.”

Shit, she’s actually going to help me get ready for bed, isn’t she? I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.

She stops right in front of me, and her fingers settle on the top button of my shirt. “May I?” she asks, looking up at me from under her long lashes. I should tell her no. I don’t know how much she’s planning to take off, but if she goes down too low…

“Yes.” No. No! That’s not what I was supposed to say!

She starts unbuttoning my shirt. It’s the slowest unbuttoning I’ve ever experienced, and it’s turning me on even more.

She gets to the last one and gently pulls my shirt down my arms and lays it on the bed. Then her fingers run along the hem of my undershirt, gently trailing against my abdomen.

“Lift.”