My Coach's Lover

3

When I woke up, the warm feeling from falling asleep on my coach's chest was gone, replaced by the soft hum of the early morning. The sun barely peeked through the blinds, casting faint lines across the bed. I sat up, stretching, and noticed I was still in yesterday's clothes.

Coach must've tucked me in after I fell asleep. Weird.

I rub my eyes, still feeling a little out of it. Why do I feel guilty? She's just my coach, right? And now, apparently, my "guardian." Whatever that's supposed to mean.

Just then, I hear a light knock on the door. Without waiting for a response, Coach walks in, holding a glass of water. "Imani, you need to drink this. You're going to start running those extra laps you owe me at practice today."

I roll my eyes and slump back onto the bed. "Why are you always on my case? You were all soft last night and now you're back to drill sergeant mode."

Coach's expression softens for a second before she responds, "I care about you, Imani. And you need discipline. It's my job to make sure you don't fall back into your old ways."

I groan dramatically. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever." I sit up and chug the water, already annoyed at the day ahead.

Coach sighs, sitting down on the edge of the bed, watching me. I could feel her eyes on me, studying my every move like I'm some kind of project. That same softness creeps into her tone again. "I know this is all new for you, and it's new for me too. But if we're going to live under the same roof, you need to follow my rules. There's no room for rebellion here."

"Rules? What, am I a little kid?" I snap, though deep down, I know I've been acting like one. Coach tilts her head slightly, a knowing look in her eyes.

"You've always had a problem with authority, haven't you?" she asks, more a statement than a question.

I squirm under her gaze. "Maybe. What's your point?"

She stands up, crossing her arms, her voice steady. "We're going to start fresh. That means no more fights, no more acting out. You don't get strikes here. You get consequences, understand?"

I huff and roll my eyes, muttering, "Fine."

"Imani." Her voice cuts through the room, firm but not harsh. "Look at me."

I slowly raise my eyes to meet hers. Something about her tone sends a weird chill down my spine. The authority, the control—it's like she knows exactly how to get under my skin, but in a way that makes me want to listen. My mind wanders for a moment before I snap back.

"Yeah, I get it," I mumble.

Coach smirks just a little. "Good. Now, get dressed and be ready in twenty minutes. We're going to school early today. And if you're late, you'll be standing in that corner again."

I wince at the memory of the belt and the corner from yesterday. It wasn't just the physical part that got to me—it was how guilty I felt afterward. I don't want to go through that again.

"Okay, fine. I'll be ready." I finally agree, pushing the covers off.

She turns to leave but stops at the door. "Oh, and Imani... I meant what I said last night. We all make mistakes, but we're going to learn from them together. You're not alone in this."

Her words hang in the air as she closes the door softly behind her. For the first time in a while, I don't feel like the world is entirely against me. Maybe this whole "guardian" thing won't be so bad. Maybe.

Later at Practice

By the time practice rolls around, I'm already dreading it. Coach was back to being all strict, yelling at everyone on the court to push harder, run faster, and be more aggressive. I'm out of breath by the time I finish my first lap, but Coach gives me that look—the one that says "You've got more in you," and I keep going.

I can't help but notice how her eyes follow me more closely than the other girls. Is she looking at me as her player... or something else? That same weird feeling bubbles up in my chest, but I push it down, focusing on making it through without earning any more "strikes."

After practice, I linger behind while the other girls hit the locker room. I'm not sure why, but something makes me want to stay. Maybe it's because Coach hasn't yelled at me all day, or maybe it's because I'm still feeling bad about yesterday.

"Imani, come here," Coach calls out from the sidelines. I walk over, pretending to act all nonchalant, but my heart's racing a little.

"What's up?" I ask, trying to sound cool.

Coach wipes sweat from her brow and looks at me with those piercing eyes. "I saw how hard you were pushing today. That's the kind of effort I expect from you. Keep it up, and we won't have any problems."

I nod, unsure how to respond. But before I can walk away, she grabs my wrist lightly, stopping me.

"There's more to this than just running laps, Imani. You know that, right?"

I frown, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not just your coach. I'm your guardian now, and whether you like it or not, that means I'm responsible for you in more ways than one."

She lets go of my wrist and crosses her arms again. "If you need anything—guidance, advice, someone to talk to—don't be afraid to ask. That's part of my job too."

I pause, staring at her for a moment. She's so serious, so focused. It's hard to tell if she's doing this out of duty or if she actually cares. I push the thought away before it messes with my head too much.

"Alright. Thanks, I guess," I say, turning away and heading for the locker room.

But as I walk off, I can't help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—this whole "guardian" thing could be more than just rules and discipline. Maybe Coach and I could find some kind of connection. I shake my head, pushing the thoughts aside. That's dangerous thinking. But then again... dangerous has always been my style.