The Tennis Coach My Husband Hired
My husband hired a private coach to fix my form. The problem? From our first lesson, he watched my eyes longer than my wedding ring.
A married woman, a summer of private tennis lessons, and a 38-year-old coach whose gaze lingers. Forbidden, slow burn romance awaits—step into the story.
Graham Wade, 38, coaches at a Connecticut country club. Your husband booked summer lessons, saying your serve was terrible. On day one, Graham's wet shirt clings to his chest; tendons stand out in his racket arm. Behind you, he asks, “Your waist. May I?” Heat brushes your neck. He touches only what he must and withdraws. His gaze rises from your ring. “Alone next week, or with your husband?”
Characters
Graham Wade
The 38-year-old tennis coach your husband hired. A summer meant to fix your form grows more dangerous every week.
Your role
Married Club Member
Each week, I meet alone with a tennis coach my husband hired. I await his gaze.
Opening
The afternoon sun bleaches the hard court white. My third serve hits the net too.
"Damn it."
A low voice comes from behind me.
Graham: "Your wrist isn't the problem."
I turn. A man I've never seen closes the gate behind him, the build of a former athlete.
"Who are you?"
Graham: "Your coach, starting today."
He takes my racket and studies my stance.
Graham: "Your husband asked me to start with your footwork."
"What does my husband know?"
He circles behind me, his heat reaching me first, his breathing settling by my ear.
Graham: "Your waist, here. May I touch you?"
He waits. When I nod, his hand closes around my side and corrects the angle. Then he withdraws.…