Chapter 3

3

ISAAC

T he second I get into my office the next day, I type Iris' name into the student database. All I could think of after yesterday was her. She has crawled into my mind and my heart and made her home there. No matter how much I know I should regret what happened between us, from a professional standpoint if nothing else, I can't. I regret none of it. I want her taste in my mouth again, want her lips on me, want to feel her everywhere.

Thankfully, I'll only have to wait a few hours to see her again. I feel like a man possessed, driven not by the excitement of starting a new job but by the idea of seeing the captain of the team once more.

Iris. My sweet little brat.

The computer takes a second to load, but then it pops up with multiple results. Iris' student registration number and her basic details that I already know—she's six years younger than me at twenty-two and on a soccer scholarship. There are also multiple articles from local and student papers about her and the team, commending her for leading them to wins or interviewing her about her talent.

She's an exceptional athlete. That much is glaringly obvious, not just from the articles but from the way I watched her train yesterday. There's not a single doubt in my mind that she'll go pro after she graduates in just a few months, and for the first time since the injury that ruined my own career, I feel genuine excitement at the idea of another living my dream, untouched by any bitter jealousy. I want what's best for her. I want her to succeed. I want to do whatever it takes to help her, to be by her side when she does.

Iris Reed has me wrapped around her little finger, and fuck, I don't even mind.

I tap my finger on the edge of my desk, thinking. There'll be scouts at the big games this season, including the championship. Our qualifying game for the final is in just a few weeks. If Iris wants the best chance at going pro, I need to make sure we get to championships. I need to make sure we win.

My train of thought is interrupted by the chime of my phone. I glance down, seeing Iris' name pop up on the screen. Immediately, I open the text. I texted her earlier to confirm the practice time of three pm to ensure she wouldn't be late again. Her answer makes me smirk.

Iris: 3pm sharp. I'll apologize thoroughly if I'm late again ;)

Me: Just don't be late in the first place.

Iris: Yes, sir

Attached to her last message is a GIF of someone saluting the camera, and I can't help the snort of laughter that leaves my mouth. It's a wonder so much sass can fit inside her petite frame. How the hell does she get under my skin so easily? Plenty of people have tried, but nobody's ever been able to get to me the way she does. There's just something about her, something unique and irresistible and made for me. She is made for me.

I force myself to put the phone down and focus on work, counting down the hours until practice.

Iris surprises me by being at the field earlier than even I am, a proud grin on her beautiful face as I approach. There are a few of the others here, too, so I keep my mouth shut, giving her a quick nod of acknowledgment. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and a surge of possessiveness takes over me. I shove it down, knowing I can't make a scene here. Later, though…

I channel my energy into drills, which the team completes obediently, and I try not to watch Iris' ass too obviously. Then, I split them into two teams and run a game, noting each member's strengths and weaknesses. Iris scores more goals than any other player, cementing her reputation as a talented player and coach. The team cheers with her, looks to her for encouragement, and listens to her just as much as they listen to me. She's respected, and her sassy attitude clearly makes her more approachable and friendly to her team.

She's incredible.

The team is cooling down and stretching out when someone shouts from the field beside ours, interrupting us.

"Oi! Reed! Looking to score again after practice?" a male voice calls out, earning laughter and cheers from his friends.

My head snaps in their direction, finding a track athlete leering at Iris. He's tall and clearly fit, built nearly the same as I am, and that rush of possessiveness I felt earlier returns twofold.

"Who are you?" I shout across at the man, my words coming out just as threatening as I mean them to.

The guy's eyes go wide as his head swivels to me. He smiles like he thinks he's done nothing wrong. "Oh, hey, you must be the new coach," he says, much too friendly for my liking. "I'm Jake, track and field athlete. Just admiring your captain."

My teeth grind together so hard I'm shocked I don't crack a tooth. "And you think it's appropriate to shout cat-calls at her during practice?" I bark, thoroughly enjoying the way he pales.

"It was only a joke—" he tries to argue.

At the same time, Iris says, "It's okay, Coach."

I glance at her. "No, it's not okay," I snap, furious. How fucking dare he speak to my girl like that? "How would the Dean feel about your inappropriate behavior interrupting the valuable training time of a student here on scholarship, Jake? Because I don't think he'd take it kindly."

"Coach—" Jake tries to backtrack, but I don't let him.

"You're fucking lucky I don't drag your sorry ass up to his office and get you expelled for this bullshit!" I growl at him, meaning every word.

"Please, don't. I didn't mean it!" he argues, clearly rattled by my threats.

The soccer team and Jake's friends are all gaping at me, but I don't give a single fuck if they think I'm overreacting. I won't stand for this.

"Apologize," I demand.

"I'm sorry, sir?—"

"Not to me, you imbecile," I yell, utterly disgusted with him. "To her!"

"I'm sorry, Iris," Jake babbles, hands in the air in surrender. "I didn't mean to upset anyone."

"It's alright," Iris murmurs in response, her voice a little breathy. My cock twitches in response.

"You're a track runner, right?" I ask Jake, still glaring at him. The guy nods. "Then prove it and fuck off fast before I change my mind."

Jake does just that, turning and sprinting away until he's just a blob in the distance.

"Pretty sure you're not supposed to swear at students, Coach," Iris pipes up, easing the tension and making the team laugh. I let her attitude slide only because it makes the team relax a little.

"Alright, that's enough for today," I say to the team, trying to keep my residual anger from my voice. "Well done, I'm impressed with what I've seen so far, though we've got a long way to go if you want to get to the championships. For now, go get cleaned up and make sure you ice any bruising!"

The team breaks up, heading to the locker rooms, but I catch Iris' gaze before she can follow her teammates.

"I'd like to see you in my office," I say as professionally as I can, "after you're dressed." Really, I'd like to see her undressed in my office, but it's not like I can say that.

Iris pauses, waiting until there's enough distance between us and the team that we won't be overheard. "I'm going to go get all this mud washed off," she declares, gesturing to the dirt swiped over her legs from training. "And then you can meet me out front instead."

I blink, a smirk tugging at my lips at her attitude. God, I love the way she challenges me. I want to put her over my knee for it, turn her pretty ass red under my palm. "Fine, I'll play your game," I tell her with a shrug, wanting to see where she's going with this.

She grins wide, then turns and jogs towards the locker room. I make quick work of locking up my office and head to the front of the building. It's quiet out here since it's not the end of the day yet, but I'll catch up on the paperwork I need to do tomorrow. The temptation of more time with Iris is too much to resist.

Minutes later, she joins me, dressed and smelling of flowery soap. I want to inhale her like air.

"If you want me, you're going to have to admit it and take me out properly," she announces, laying down the law.

I can't help but chuckle at that. She's right, I do want her. More than I have the words for. "Fine, little brat," I concede, stepping closer to her after checking there's no one else around to see. "Do you enjoy testing me?"

Her eyes shine again. "You're right," she teases. "I am a brat, and teasing you might be my new favorite hobby."

I shake my head at her. Still, she must be hungry after practice, and the possessive part of me needs to take care of her, to ensure she has everything she wants and needs. As much as I want to fuck her until she's screaming, I can't do that if she hasn't eaten. She'll need the energy.

"Come on then, brat," I murmur, nodding toward my car. "Let's get dinner."

I take her to the next town over, neither of us ready to risk being recognized. The star soccer player and the new coach out to dinner alone? Yeah, that would raise some questions.

Iris chooses a cozy bar and restaurant, and soon we're sitting in a corner booth with drinks and food between us. I grin as Iris takes a huge bite of her burger, my cock hardening as she moans in delight. Fuck, I could watch her eat all night if she keeps making those noises.

I sip my drink, trying to find some self-control.

"You didn't need to stand up for me like that with Jake," she says, raising a brow at me.

"Yes, I did," I argue. "You're mine, remember, Iris? That means nobody gets to speak to you like that but me."

She flushes, her pupils widening. I grin in satisfaction at her reaction.

"Okay," she says softly, accepting it. She seems to recover some of her sass and adds, "Tell me about you, then. I mean, I've had your cock in my mouth, I feel like I'm entitled to some details."

I choke on a bite of french fry, pinning her with a look when she bursts into laughter. "You're gonna be the death of me," I mutter, rolling my eyes. "What do you want to know?"

She shrugs. "Everything. Like how did you get into coaching?"

I swallow, considering my answer. "It's not a story I tell often."

Iris cocks her head to the side, analyzing me. "Does it have something to do with the scar I noticed on your knee?"

I stiffen, an automatic response when the subject's brought up. But she's right, if she's mine, then she is entitled to know these things about me. Patiently, she waits for me to answer, and finally, I sigh and tell her the story.

"We're very similar," I begin with a grimace. "When I was your age, I was also a college soccer star with a scholarship and a bright future playing pro ahead of me. We won our state championship, everything was going exactly how I'd always planned. And then, in a training game, I was tackled badly. The grass was slippery, and the other player's shoes were too old to grip properly. We slid, and he landed on me, my leg pinned beneath us both when we went down. The whole team heard it snap."

Iris gasps, a french fry frozen in her hand halfway to her mouth.

"I heard it, too, before the pain registered. And God, was there pain," I laugh humorlessly, cringing at the memory. "I'll spare you the details, but it wasn't pretty. Shattered my patella. Surgery meant I could walk on it again, with a shit tonne of physio, but my dream of playing pro was as broken as the bone."

I expect Iris to have a snarky remark, but she surprises me by reaching out, her hand finding mine on the table.

"I'm sorry that happened," she says softly, her eyes holding mine.

"It's okay," I say with a shrug, shoving the pain back down. "Just means I'm even more determined to get you noticed by the scouts. You've got what it takes to make it, Iris."

She grins, laughing. "Well, with a coach as strict as you, I've got a better chance than ever," she teases.

"Strict, huh?" I tease right back, lowering my voice. "Oh, little brat. You have no idea how harsh I can be."

Iris' lashes flutter as she smiles at me. "Bring it on, Coach . "