Page 3 of Coach (Shady Valley Henchmen #8)

Este

It took a solid twenty seconds for the shock and fear to dissipate before I could finally breathe again, even if the adrenaline was still singing through my veins.

When I glanced down to see who my savior was, though, a tightness spread across my chest again.

Because… wow.

I mean, from what I could tell, Shady Valley had no shortage of attractive men. My bosses, for one. The brothers who all seemed to own the pub next door also came to mind. Hell, even several of the cops and corrections officers that happened into the pool hall after their shifts were pretty hot.

This guy, though?

He was the fluttering heart, weak-kneed kind of gorgeous with his inky hair, his golden skin, his abundance of dark tattoos, his strong jaw, and the black eyes so deep I felt like I could dive in them and drown.

It was hard to tell his height when I was towering above him on the ladder, but he seemed tall and incredibly fit under his loose gray linen button-up and black jean shorts.

“You saved me.”

Great first line.

Genius.

But my mind was wiped blank of anything else.

The man’s eyes warmed. His lips curved up ever so slightly. His lips parted to say something.

Only to have freaking Konstantin interrupt.

“What are you doing?”

I still wasn’t quite used to the kind of blunt, almost stern way my boss spoke. It took effort to remember not everything he said was an accusation, even if it sounded like one.

“Checking the vent,” I told him, a little embarrassed to be having a work conversation in front of the random hot stranger.

“Why?”

“Because I was told to see what was wrong with the air.”

“Told?” Konstantin asked, brows lowering. “By who? Not me.”

“No, not you. But I got a call telling me to come in and—”

“From Mikhail?”

“Oh, ah. No. It was a woman. She—”

“Can’t mind her business,” Konstantin cut in, rambling off something under his breath in Russian. “You go. This can wait.” He flicked a hand toward the vent. “Irina!” he barked, snapping his fingers and drawing the attention of the woman I’d spoken to earlier.

Irina stalked toward Konstantin, her heels clicking like little bombs, reflecting her frustration. She drifted in and out of English and Russian. The only clear thing I made out was her snarling at him for snapping at her like a servant. That was fair enough. No one wanted to be snapped at.

Suddenly feeling very silly for still being up on a ladder, I slowly made my way down. I didn’t really realize what I was doing until I literally felt the guy’s hands brush the sides of my knees.

So, yeah.

My ass was all in his face.

And, hey, it was a decent ass and everything. But that was still super awkward with a stranger.

I rushed further down, feeling his arms moving around me, his chest near my back.

I blamed him for it.

His delicious nag champa scent harkened back to memories of wandering into a local new age store to buy bulk crystals for a craft project I’d been making for my teenage bedroom, his body warmth was much appreciated in the cold pool hall, and even his breath sent shivers across my skin.

It was all his fault that I missed one of the ladder rungs and started to fall.

Suddenly, one of his hands wasn’t on the ladder anymore because his arm was wrapping around my midsection, catching me and hauling me back against his chest.

Which, yeah, was doing absolutely nothing to distract me from the flood of interest rushing through my veins.

His arm was an anchor, his chest wide and strong. And his damn thumb was teasing at the underside of my boob.

Goosebumps prickled.

The air got too thick to breathe.

My heart? Yeah, it was doing some sort of freestyle.

We weren’t going to talk about a specific other part of my anatomy and its urge to grab this guy, pull him into the supply closet, and ease a very desperate ache.

“You alright?”

With your deep voice rumbling through your chest and into mine? With your warm breath on my ear? No, not at all.

“Yeah.” We were going to pretend my voice wasn’t all breathy. You know, for my own pride. “Thanks,” I added.

He was still holding me.

One second. Two. Five.

The cracking sound of the cue ball breaking the rack had us both jerking.

He released me.

I tried not to whimper at the lack of him and focused on stepping to the side and putting a little space between us.

“Thanks again,” I said, hoping my voice sounded stronger.

“Always a good day when I can save a woman—and a table full of people—from harm.”

I was about to open my mouth to say something when another man appeared at his side.

“Coach, you gonna introduce me to your friend?” he asked.

Coach.

Huh.

That was not the name I expected.

Unless it was a nickname. Or, maybe, a profession?

Instinctively, my stomach tightened and twisted.

“You’re pretty,” the man—tall, handsome, covered in zany tattoos—said.

“I, uh, thanks.”

“I’m Raff.”

“Raff. Is that short for Rafferty?” I asked. I had a thing for names. Maybe because mine was on the unusual side.

“It’s short for riff-raff.”

“As in… who let the riff-raff in?”

“Exactly.”

“So, is there a riff?”

“My brother.”

“That makes sense. Are they your real names?”

“Road names.”

“I… have no idea what that means.”

“We’re a club,” Raff said, gesturing between himself and Coach. “Motorcycle,” he added when I clearly still didn’t understand.

“Oh, okay.”

Now that he mentioned it, Raff was wearing one of those vests I always saw bikers wearing. Though Coach didn’t have one on. Maybe he was new or something.

“Do you have a name, sweetness?”

Only stupidly handsome guys blessed with more than their fair share of charm and ego could get away with calling women they didn’t even know cutesy nicknames without coming off as creepy.

“Este.”

“Este. I like that,” Raff declared. “So, do you bring a ladder to all your social functions, or do you work here?”

Charmed a little despite myself, my lips curved up.

“I work here.”

“Girl repairman. I like it. Please tell me you sometimes wear a tool belt.”

“If the job requires it.”

Raff pressed a hand to his heart.

“You’re new in town, right? I’m pretty sure we would have noticed you before.”

“Just a couple of weeks. I was just supposed to be passing through, but something made me want to stop.”

“It has a sort of desolate, sad, small-town charm.”

He said that in a way that suggested he’d traveled enough to see many such towns.

“Well, we are having a party later tonight if you want to come. Good food, fruity drinks, a Jello shot or two. You should come by. We’re up at that big warehouse at the edge of town.”

I knew the exact one they were talking about. In a very small town full of modestly sized buildings, it and the prison stood out like sore thumbs.

“You’re having a party at a warehouse?”

“Sort of. It’s where we live.”

That made more sense. I remembered it having several tables and such out back—along with a chicken coop.

“I’ll think about it,” I said. It was a brush-off, of course. Because what woman in her right mind went to a party with random, strange members of a motorcycle club?

“There will be lots of other girls there,” Raff went on, as if sensing my trepidation. “Just something to keep in mind. Well, we won’t keep you from work, pretty Este. Maybe we will see you later.”

As intrigued as I was to see what the inside of that warehouse might look like, and to get close enough to feel Coach’s body heat again, that was absolutely not going to happen.

I, of all people, knew too well how important it was to be careful, to never take any chances. Going to a party with men I didn’t know? It didn’t get more dangerous than that.

Still, as I stored away the ladder and headed back out the doors of the pool hall, there was a little sinking sensation in my stomach.

For not getting to spend more time with Coach, sure. But it was more than that. It was because of how narrow my life had become.

Once upon a time, I’d been the fresh-faced girl with nothing to be afraid of. The one who made friends easily and frequently, who didn’t believe in strangers, who took chances and lived fully.

But all that had slowly been chipped away from me, leaving me all alone in the world with nothing but my hobbies and my dog.

“Not that you’re not enough,” I told Trix, as if she could hear my thoughts.

At the end of her lead, she turned back to look at me in a very ‘Why are you bothering me when I’m trying to sniff every inch of this town, ’ kind of way.

I’d gone home to change after work, slipping into shorts and a tee, knowing that Trix liked an impossibly long walk and that it was still pretty hot out.

Getting Trix partially filled the hole created by being forced to leave not only my friends behind me but any hope of making solid future ones as well. Because I never knew when I was going to need to pack up, take off, start over, and never look back.

Trix pulled me all the way to the edge of town right before the road split to head up toward the motel, gas station, and eventually, the prison, or to go toward the suburbs where you would have to pass by the warehouse.

The place was all lit up—three floors of brightness. And even from far away, I swore I could hear the thumping bass of the music.

No, I couldn’t make forever friends.

But who was to say I couldn’t have one night of being social? Of pretending I was just a normal woman with a normal life who could have normal experiences?

“You ready to head back?” I asked Trix. I got a sniff, but she turned and walked all the way back to our duplex at half the speed she had left it. Once I was sure she had everything she needed for the night, I went ahead and did something reckless.

I showered.

I threw on something pretty.

I grabbed my keys.

Then I left the house—and my fifty unfinished projects within—behind to get in my car and take a drive. Just a drive. I could opt out at any moment.

Until, of course, I found myself parked in the lot of the warehouse among a bunch of motorcycles and cars.

Judging by the various items nestled in some—claw clips on the visor, hair ties on the shifter, big patterned stainless steel cups in the holders—I figured Raff was right about there being a lot of women around.

Feeling slightly more comfortable with that, I grabbed my purse.

Reaching into the glovebox, I grabbed my mace, an eye gouger, and a little pocketknife.

Comforted, yes. But not naive. Bad things happened to women when there were other women around all the time.

And I knew better than anyone how scary even seemingly good men could be.

I climbed out of the car, still trying to decide if I was going inside. When, suddenly, a flashlight shot up from somewhere in the back and landed on me.

Panic surged, adrenaline flooding my veins, my heartbeat tripping faster and faster as the light approached and footsteps crunched, but I couldn’t make out the shadow approaching me.

A floodlight flicked on, bathing the whole parking lot in light and illuminating the man who’d been approaching me.

Coach.

“Este.”

God, the way his voice curved around my name made all that adrenaline morph into desire.

Then, when I just stood there dumbly, too overwhelmed with sensation to form a single rational thought, he went on.

“You came.”

“What were you doing?” I asked.

“Hm?”

“With the flashlight.”

“Oh. I was checking on the chicken coop. I’ve seen some silver foxes around here lately. I wanted to make sure they were locked up tight.”

“In the middle of a party?”

“I like to take a break now and again. Clear my head. Get some air. You still deciding if you’re coming in?” he asked.

Not anymore.

“I heard there was going to be good food.”

“The best. Let’s go get you a plate. Oh, and if you see a gray cat with blue eyes, do yourself a favor and don’t get too close to him.”

“Unfriendly?”

“Only toward women.”

“Huh. I have a dog that is unfriendly only to men.”

“Which is why you got her in the first place,” Coach said, holding the front door open for me, the music and laughter spilling out.

“It is,” I agreed.

“Can’t be too careful.”

My purse was heavy with the proof of those words.

“Exactly.”

Though as I followed Coach into the clubhouse, I got the feeling I was in very unsafe territory.

But it wasn’t exactly my body that needed protection.