Chapter 1: Starting Line

The end of September brought a crisp, sharp air. It smelled of fresh-cut grass and a hint of sweat. Lincoln High’s cross-country course was no joke. Two miles of twisty dirt trails and hills really made your legs burn and lungs ache.

I am Danny Harper, an eighteen-year-old senior, all gangly arms and legs. My dark hair always flopped into my eyes. I was the fastest guy on our co-ed team, but I wasn’t one to brag. The team kept big egos in check. For me, running wasn’t about trophies. It was about my heart thumping, the blur of the ground, and the world narrowing down to my next step.

We lined up for a practice run. There were twelve of us, all buzzing with energy. Our sneakers dug into the dirt. The sun was setting, painting the field golden. A faint hum of a lawnmower drifted on the breeze. Our new assistant coach, Ms. Lauren Tate, stood with her clipboard. Her auburn hair shone like a sunset in the light. She was Twenty Seven, fresh out of grad school from Ohio State. She had a runner’s build, lean and strong. Her legs looked like they could outrun a hurricane. Her black shorts and tight Lincoln High tee showed off toned thighs. They also showed just enough curves to make my heart race.

Mike, my best friend, kept elbowing me, nodding towards her. Sarah, our fastest girl, watched her with a fascinated stare. Everyone seemed a little captivated. Me? I tried so hard to act cool. But every time her bright green eyes glanced my way, my stomach did flips.

“Alright, team!” Lauren’s voice cut through our chatter. It was clear and warm. “Two miles, full gas, no slacking. Regionals are three weeks out. Jefferson’s not getting our spot again. Got it?”

“Yay Team!” we yelled. Our cheesy chant echoed across the field. Lauren’s grin was contagious. Her eyes sparkled like she was in on the joke. She blew her whistle. We were off, elbows bumping, sneakers pounding.

I quickly found my rhythm. My legs were loose, my breathing steady. Running was my escape. The world melted away. Only my pulse and the dirt under my feet remained. Behind me, Mike, my best friend and the team loudmouth, was huffing. “Whoa, Harper, setting a new record or something? Give us a break!”

Sarah, our fastest girl, cackled. Her ponytail swung. “Toughen up, Mike, or I’ll lap you!”

I grinned and pushed harder. Lauren was watching from the sidelines. I wanted her to see me fly.

I crossed the finish line first, ten seconds ahead of Sarah. My lungs screamed, but the rush was incredible. Lauren was there with a stopwatch in hand. Her hair seemed to shimmer in the fading light. Her gaze held mine as I finished. My heart tripped. It wasn’t just from the run. “Nice one, Danny,” she said, writing on her clipboard. “Two seconds faster than last week. You’re our ace for regionals.”

“Thanks, Coach,” I said. I tried to sound chill. I was sweating a lot. Her smile made my knees weak. Her green eyes seemed to see right through me. I looked away quickly. I didn’t want to stare and make it awkward.

We collapsed onto the grass for stretches. We traded silly jokes while groaning through Lauren’s routine. “Hamstrings, people! Don’t half-ass it!” she called.

She dropped into a lunge. Her shorts rode up. They showed a smooth thigh with a few freckles. My eyes wandered.

Sarah, stretching next to me, smirked. “Eyes on the grass, Harper, or you’ll pull something.”

Mike snorted. “Yeah, like his heart.” I flipped them off. My face felt hot.

Sarah laughed. “Don’t choke at regionals drooling over Coach Blaze.”

“Shut up,” I said, grinning.

They started calling her “Coach Blaze” on the first day. It was because of her hair. And the way she pushed us with that killer smile. I didn’t mind the hard work. The way she commanded the field, confident and easy, had me hooked.

Lauren clapped to end practice. We yelled “Yay Team!” while grabbing water and bags. I hung back. I messed with my laces like an idiot, hoping for a moment alone with her.

She was by the equipment shed. She was stacking cones. She hummed what I swore was Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” My Walkman had “Master of Puppets” loaded. But her taste was pretty cool. I grabbed a water bottle and jogged over. My heart pounded harder than it did on the course.

“Need a hand, Coach?” I asked. I held up the bottle like a total dork.

She turned, wiping her brow. Her grin hit me like a tidal wave. “Already sucking up, Harper? Alright, stack those cones in the shed.”

I followed her into the cramped, dusty shed. The air was thick with old gym sock smells. We worked in silence. But it felt charged. Like the calm before a storm. She brushed past me to reach a shelf. Her arm grazed mine. It was warm and quick. Her fresh peppermint shampoo filled my senses. I froze. My breath caught in my throat. Her fingers lingered near mine for a second. I caught a tiny flash in her eyes. Then she stepped back. She shoved a cone into place like nothing happened.

“You’re quiet,” she said. Her tone was light. But her eyes were curious. “Something up?”

“Just focused,” I lied. My voice cracked.

She raised an eyebrow.

“You ran at Ohio State, right? Were you fast?” I scrambled.

Her laugh hit me like a shot of adrenaline, warm and deep. “Fast enough for medals, not nationals. Why? Think you could take me?”

“Maybe,” I said, grinning.

I felt bolder than I should have. Her eyes held mine. A flicker of something daring was in them. Then she shook her head. It was like she was shaking off a stray thought.

“Keep dreaming, Danny. You’ve got enough to chase out there.”

She handed me the last cone. Her fingers brushed mine. They were warm and quick. Her smile lingered. It was playful. Like she knew she was messing with my head.

As she turned, she said, almost too casually, “New town, new job ... it’s a lot.” Her voice softened.

It was like she was letting me see something real. Then she shrugged it off and walked out. She left me wondering what was behind that.

That night, I lay sprawled on my bed. “Master of Puppets” blasted through my Walkman. I stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. They had been there since I was a kid.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Those green eyes. The way her shorts hugged her hips. That electric touch in the shed.

She was my coach and nine years my senior. She probably had a grad school boyfriend. My barely legal brain didn’t care. Lauren Tate was everything. Her laugh, her confidence, the way she saw me. It was a high I couldn’t shake.

At the next practice, I ran harder. Part to impress her and part to burn off the fire in my gut. Halfway up a killer hill sprint, my calf cramped up. Pain shot through me, and I dropped to one knee, grunting.

Lauren was there in a flash. She knelt beside me. Her hands were steady on my leg. “Easy, Danny, don’t move,” she said.

Her fingers worked the muscle. They were firm but gentle. Her touch was all business, but it sent sparks through me. I prayed my shorts hid what was happening. Her shimmering hair brushed my knee. Her fresh peppermint scent hit me hard.

“Breathe,” she murmured, her voice softer now, almost too intimate for the open field. Her breath grazed my ear as she leaned closer, adjusting her grip to work the cramp. “You’re way too tense, Danny.”

Lauren’s hands slid upward to the edge of my thigh as she guided my leg into a stretch. Her fingers lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary. Her warmth seared through the thin fabric of my shorts. My body betrayed me before I could stop it. A sudden, uncomfortable tightness in my shorts made me shift again. I tried to angle my hips to hide the obvious bulge straining against my shorts. The movement was too abrupt, a clumsy attempt to adjust myself. It only drew her eyes to the embarrassing tent I was failing to conceal.

Her gaze flicked downward for a split second. A faint flush bloomed across her cheeks. She bit her lip, stifling a laugh, and quickly looked away. Her hands retreated to the safer territory of my calf. “Sorry, I ... didn’t mean to...” she stammered.