Page 19 of Coached By the Grumpy Gargoyle

“Cole Braddock is a good student.” His voice stays level. “I have coached that kid four years. And in four years there has never been one complaint against him. Not from a teacher. Not from a player. Not one, ever. I know his parents. I know how he was raised.”

I know the Cole he’s talking about. I’ve just passed him in the doorway. I’ve seen him smile at teachers, and I’ve never had another student come to me about him. But I know Eli, too. I’m not going to stop believing him because the name he finally gave me is inconvenient.

“There’s no complaint because Eli is terrified of what Cole will do to him if he makes one,” I say. “He’s been putting up with this for months because he’s scared that asking us for help will make it worse.”

“Do you have anything else that proves it was Cole?” His gloved hand flattens on the desk beside the towel. “I believe you when you say Eli was hurt, but those are serious accusations.”

“Eli says it’s him. Why isn’t that enough for you to take him seriously?”

“I am taking him seriously. But if I accuse him and I’m wrong, I could ruin a seventeen-year-old’s future. I need to be sure.”

“Then get sure fast. Eli has a future too, Bram. What happens to him while you’re making up your mind?” I lean forward, both hands on the edge of his desk. “I am going to do whatever it takes to help that boy, with you or around you. Tomorrow morning this goes to admin. I’m putting what Eli told me in writing for Principal Patricia Oakes, along with what I saw. I’m not waiting until Eli gets hurt again. You can put your name next to mine, or I can go alone. But I’m going.”

“You think I don’t protect my kids.” He comes around the desk. The office is narrow, and his voice has dropped into a register I can feel through the floor. “Eli is mine too. That wing is mine. Every kid in it.”

“Then it happened in your wing, and you never saw it.” His wings pull tight against his back. I should stop, but I’ve never been good at doing what I should do. “Do with this whatever you want.”

I take my hands off the desk and straighten to face him. Bram bends until we’re face to face, green eyes blazing, close enough that his breath moves my hair. I hold my ground.

“If Cole did this without my noticing,” Bram says, his voice rough, “then I failed both those boys. You think I don’t know that?”

His gaze drops to the towel, then comes back to me. For the first time since I walked in, he looks shaken. I want him to tell me he’ll help. I need to hear it from him, and for a moment I think he’s going to say it.

He doesn’t. I glance at my bag on the visitor chair.

“Think about it,” I tell him. “You know where to find me.”

“That would be easier if you stopped running every time I got close.”

My gaze snaps back to his. Well. Apparently we’re having this conversation now.

“I’m standing right here, aren’t I? How much closer would you like me?”

His eyes drop to my mouth. Heat climbs into my cheeks.

“Closer than you are now.”

That is not the answer I was expecting, and he’s still bent toward me, close enough that I can feel his breath. I wish I didn’t feel all my lady parts respond, all at once, but I do. It’s an entire storm down there.

“That’s not a very professional answer, Coach.”

“You didn’t ask a very professional question.” One corner of his mouth lifts into the sexiest, most sinful smirk I ever laid eyes on. “Unless you ask all your colleagues that.”

“Only the ones who insist on looming over me.” I lift my chin. “Is it really necessary for you to be quite this tall anyway?”

“You didn’t seem to mind when I picked you up.”

Oh, I didn’t. Not one bit. My gaze drops to his mouth again. I should step back. I should say something brisk about professional boundaries and leave. Instead I want to kiss that smug little smile right off his face.

My brain malfunctions and I’m vaguely aware that I’m moving as I grab two fistfuls of his hoodie, pull him down, and kiss him.

He goes absolutely still, his mouth firm under mine. For one awful second I think I’ve made a terrible mistake. Then my palm slides up to the bare stone of his neck, and he kisses me back. His skin is warm beneath my hand and getting warmer by the second. His hand closes on my waist, steadying me as I lean into him, and a low sound rolls through his chest and straight into my hands.

I feel that sound all the way down to my knees. His other hand comes to my back, drawing me closer, and for a moment I don’t want to be anywhere else. His mouth is warm and hungry on mine.

I’ve missed this. I’ve obsessed over the memory of his kiss for over a week. I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep pretending otherwise while I’m holding on to him like this.

Above us his wings snap half open and rattle the blinds on the interior window. The sound jolts me enough to remind me where we are. In his office. With the door open and Eli’s bloodstained towel on the desk.