Coach's Number One

Chapter Six

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Dedication: _daunicorn for the cover! Thank you!

Recap:

"I don't care, Harv. I'm sure they're great. What time is dinner?"

"Six."

"I'll be there," I nodded.

My phone dinged and I glanced down in surprise. A new email had been sent to my school email. That was weird. What teacher would be emailing me at 9pm on a Friday night?

I opened it. It was from Coach Brennon. It was a photo of a piece of paper. Opening it, I zoomed in, feeling a little shocked.

Mia Granteire - Time Sheet.

A smile stretched across my face.

I was going to take that bitch down.

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My body hates me. It would have to after the torture I just put it through. I did two hours of straight breaststroke. My body is aching as I dress. I can't help but wince every time I bend over.

"And I thought the Elite team members were competitive," a familiar voice remarks. "They've got nothing on you."

An automatic smile makes its way onto my face as I hear Coach Brennon. I straighten my back and glance over to where he is lazily leaning against the girl's locker door.

Was he watching me change? How long has he been standing there?

"I have to be the best," I smirk with a shrug. "Do you always watch the girls get dressed?"

He rolls his eyes. "Only the special ones."

"Right," I reply, yanking my hoodie over my head.

"Grace," he says, opting for a more serious tone this time.

"Ashton," I say back mockingly.

He grins, a playful smile on his face. "Coach Brennon, to you."

"Since when?"

"Since always," he laughs. "But seriously, what I sent you can't be repeated to anyone. Got it?"

"Yes sir," I salute. "Anything else?"

"Are you ever serious?"

"Nope."

He smiles amusedly, his eyes dipping from my eyes for a moment.

"Your breaststroke times are good, you know," he eventually says as I continued to gather up my things, feeling his gaze burning into my skin.

"Not good enough, apparently," I say sourly, my good mood evaporating.

I have spent hours trying to get my times to match hers and I'm not quite there yet, which annoys the hell out of me.

If it was freestyle, no problem, but breaststroke just isn't my strongest.

"You are so tough on yourself," he says lightly, coming towards me and squeezing my shoulders. "Do you ever get time to relax?" His fingers move over my shoulders, pushing gentle but firm circles into my skin.

Suddenly, the door that had swung shut slams open and Mia stood there, with her doe blue eyes piercing into us.

Instantly, Ashton steps back. Her face is a mirror of shock. Slowly, she recovers, clearing her throat as she does.

"Sorry to interrupt," her voice is clipped and polite.

"Morning Mia," Ashton greets. He glances at me slightly uneasily. "Good job today, Grace. Looking forward to seeing you continue to improve your strokes."