want you and it’s driving me insane.”

I stared at him. “What?”

“Every goddamn practice,” Marcus said, voice low and dangerous, “I have to watch you out there. Have to watch the way you move, the way you push yourself, the way you refuse to back down from anything. I have to touch you to correct your form and pretend it doesn’t affect me. Have to yell at you to cover up the fact that all I want to do is—”

He stopped, breathing hard.

“Is what?” I whispered.

His hand came up, fingers brushing my jaw. The touch sent electricity racing down my spine.

“This is wrong,” he said,...