Chapter 1

1

ISAAC

C restview College stares down at me as I get out of the car, hoisting my bag onto my shoulder. I exhale, straightening my spine as I head to my new office. Today's my first official day as coach of the Crestview women's soccer team—a team that I've been told is raring up to win the championships in a few months. Well, they would be if they had a decent coach to push them the way they need to be pushed to achieve it.

That's why I'm here after all.

I make my way down the halls, noting the display cases full of the students' achievements over the years, to my office. It's pretty quiet, already mid-morning so most of the other staff members and students are in class. I appreciate the quiet before the chaos, though.

My office is in the building closest to the pitches and sports center and is pretty small. That's fine, given that most of my work will be done outside anyway. I set my bag down on the empty desk, unzipping it and unpacking what little I brought with me. A few notebooks and folders, a tablet for filming practices and taking notes on the field…

I pause as my fingers close around the final thing—the only piece of decoration I brought to hang in the office. Slowly, I hold it up, the edges of the wooden frame digging into the palm of my hand as I grip it. My throat feels tight, but my eyes are dry as I stare at the image behind the glass. My own face stares back at me, muddy and sweaty, a grin so wide my eyes are crinkled. My hands are in the air, my body crushed between the bodies of my team. I can practically hear the cheers and excited shouts even now.

The memory is as happy as it is devastating. My chest burns with a mixture of emotions. My hand is steady but my knuckles are white with how hard I'm holding the photo. It's the last competitive game I ever played, the game that won us our college championship six years ago.

My jaw clenches as I set the photo down beside the computer, as motivation or as a reminder, I can't be sure. Regardless, it feels important to have with me. If nothing else, it's visual proof of the reason I do what I do. Coaching is a job, sure, but it's also the only way I get to stay connected with the game I've loved all my life. It's a passion. It's in my very blood.

I have a reputation as a strict, no-nonsense coach. And if I'm honest, the reputation is accurate. I might not win any popularity contests among my players, but nobody can deny that I get results. I don't care if they like me. I care that they listen to me. I care that they win.

Which is something the Crestview team is about to learn.

I glance at the clock, realizing I have ten minutes until I'm supposed to meet the team on the pitch. I head out, wanting to get there early to set the standard I expect the players to hold.

Thanks to my office being so conveniently placed, it only takes me five minutes to get to the pitch, and I'm pleasantly surprised to find that a few of the team are already there waiting for me.

I give them a nod as they introduce themselves, waiting until the rest of the team arrives before I introduce myself properly. By two minutes past the hour, there are twenty-four players in front of me. One missing. Irritation slides over my skin, but I begin my introduction all the same.

"Nice to meet you all," I begin, nodding at the players before me. "I'm Coach Thomson and I'm here to make sure that Crestview makes it to the championships this year. Our first qualifying game is in less than a month, so I need to know what we're working with. Today, you'll be running through a series of?—"

The sound of feet hitting the earth as someone runs over interrupts me. I glance to the side, finding my missing player rushing over with an entirely unapologetic smile on her face. Her blond hair is tied out of her face in a messy ponytail, and her outfit is crinkled and bunched like she's just tugged it on. Her shorts hit her mid-thigh, revealing tanned, toned legs speckled with bruises. Her t-shirt is too big on her, the neckline dipping to reveal the curve of her sports bra beneath.

My narrowed gaze sweeps over her, taking in every detail. My heart thumps hard against my ribs, and the irritation I felt at her interruption wars with raging desire.

Who the fuck is this girl? And why does my whole body react to her?

"Oops, sorry!" the woman calls out with a bright, cheery voice as she falls into place beside the rest of the team. Her cheeks are a little flushed from running over, but her smile stays in place even as I glare at her.

"You're late," I say, keeping my tone even and bland in an attempt to hide the reaction I'm having to her. In all my life, I've never had such a visceral reaction to someone before. It's like my entire world is tilting on its axis.

"Only by five minutes," she argues with a shrug, as though it doesn't matter.

That won't fly with me. "What's your name and position?" I snap, crossing my arms over my chest. The rest of the team shuffles on their feet, sensing the frustration in my voice, but this girl doesn't so much as drop her grin.

"Iris," she introduces, her deep blue eyes sparkling as she meets my stare head-on. "Iris Reed. I'm a forward, and team captain."

I raise a brow. "Captain, and yet you lack the basic discipline to turn up on time?" I ask, hearing a few of the other women murmur under their breath as the tension between Iris and me ramps up. She opens her full lips, likely to give me more of the back talk she's clearly unafraid to dish out, but I stop her, addressing the whole team.

"This lack of discipline and commitment won't cut it now that I'm here," I tell them all, pleased when many of them nod their heads respectfully. "If you want to win this season, you need to work hard and prove you've got what it takes. Do you think championship winners turn up late to the game, huh? Do you think their captain shows their team such little respect to not even bother to show true commitment?"

I see Iris bristle, her smile finally fading as her gaze hardens. I once again focus on her, staring her down. "You'll stay back after practice and run extra drills as punishment."

"But—"

"Unless you're admitting to your lack of commitment to the team and want to hand over your captain title to another player?" I ask. Normally, I wouldn't push a new team this much on the first day. But there's something about this girl that makes me want to play with her. The way she's unafraid to talk back to me, the sass in her voice, the defiance in her blue eyes. I'm drawn to it on instinct, some dark part of myself rising in response.

"No, Coach," Iris responds, the words clearly ground out between clenched teeth. There's a spark in her eyes, like she's challenging me. Like she's sure she'll win. The competitive side of me responds eagerly, and fuck , I have the sudden need to see this woman give in to me. On her knees.

Fuck! I shouldn't be thinking like that. I'm sure there's some sort of rule about not fantasizing about the woman I've been hired to coach. But staring her down, I find that I don't give a single fucking shit about any of those rules.

"Good," I say, having to physically stop myself from saying the full phrase good girl . I rip my eyes away from her, realizing I've been ignoring the rest of the team while caught up in the haze Iris clouds around me. "Now, if your captain is finished wasting all our time, let's get started. Five laps of the field!"