Marisol kept her word.
Thursday after practice she left the side gate unlocked. Kai had evening film with the relays until eight. Jett arrived at 5:45, walked straight into the garage, and found her already waiting with her polo unbuttoned halfway and her leggings shoved down to her thighs.
No negotiation this time. No long confession.
She braced both hands on the hood of Kai's Civic, arched her back, and looked over her shoulder at him with an expression that was pure surrender.
"Hurry."
He didn't.
Jett took his time. He stripped the leggings the rest of the way off, spread her open with his thumbs, and licked her until her knees threatened to buckle and her soft curses turned into broken pleas. Only then did he stand, free himself, and push inside in one long stroke that made her forehead drop against the cool metal.
He fucked her slow and deep, one hand wrapped around the back of her neck, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks she would have to hide later. Every time she tried to push back for more he held her still and made her take exactly the pace he chose. When she came the first time it was quiet, a full-body shudder and a choked sound she buried against her own arm. He kept going until the second orgasm left her shaking and incoherent, then finished inside her with a low groan that vibrated against her spine.
Afterward he cleaned her with the towel she had ready, helped her step back into the leggings, and buttoned her polo with deliberate care. Marisol watched his hands work in silence. When he finished she caught his wrist.
"I meant what I said last time," she murmured. "I'm yours. Even when it scares the shit out of me."
Jett kissed the corner of her mouth. "I know."
He left the same way he always did—calm, unhurried, already thinking three steps ahead.
He did not notice the dark windbreaker across the street until he was almost at his car two blocks over.
The woman was leaning against a low brick wall, phone in one hand, sunglasses pushed up into dark hair. Mid-thirties. Athletic build under the jacket. Sharp cheekbones. The kind of still, assessing posture that said she had been waiting deliberately.
When Jett's eyes met hers she didn't look away.
She pushed off the wall and walked toward him with easy confidence, stopping a few feet short.
"Jett Harlan," she said. Not a question.
He kept his expression neutral. "Do I know you?"
"Not yet." She offered a small, unreadable smile. "I'm Isabel Vargas. Mateo's mother. He's on the four-by-one with Kai. We've met once at the parent-athlete breakfast last fall. You probably don't remember."
He did not. He filed the name anyway.
Isabel's gaze flicked briefly back toward the Vega house, then returned to him. "I saw you leave through the side gate. Again. Third time in a week, if I'm counting correctly."
Jett said nothing.
She continued, voice low and even. "I also saw the look on Coach Vega's face when you walked away on Monday. That wasn't a coaching conversation. And the way she stood at the gate afterward… that wasn't professional either."
The air between them tightened.
Isabel tilted her head. "I'm not here to threaten you. Or her. I'm divorced, not interested in explosions. But I am curious. Very curious. A nineteen-year-old scholarship kid who can make a woman like Marisol Vega unlock her side gate in the middle of the afternoon is… worth paying attention to."
Jett studied her. Calm. Patient. The same way he had once studied Marisol's cracks.
"What do you want, Mrs. Vargas?"
"Isabel." She corrected him lightly. "And right now I only want a conversation. Somewhere quieter than a sidewalk. You free for coffee tomorrow after practice? Public place. Daylight. No games."
He could have refused. Could have shut it down and walked away. Instead he weighed the risk against the opening she was handing him.
"There's a place on Fourth. The one with the green awning. 4:30."
Isabel's smile deepened a fraction. "I'll be there."
She turned and walked off without looking back, the dark windbreaker disappearing around the corner like she had never been there.
Jett stood still for a moment longer, then got into his car.
That night Marisol texted him first.
Kai's asleep. I can still feel you. I already want Thursday again. What the fuck is wrong with me.
Jett replied with two words.
Nothing's wrong.
He did not mention the woman who had been watching.
The next afternoon the café on Fourth was half-empty. Isabel Vargas was already seated at a corner table, black coffee in front of her, no sunglasses this time. Up close she was striking in a sharper, cooler way than Marisol—less fiery, more precise. Dark eyes that missed very little. A thin gold chain at her throat. Wedding band absent.
Jett sat across from her.
Isabel didn't waste time.
"I've known Marisol for six years. Parent meetings, team dinners, the occasional glass of wine when the kids had joint study sessions. She's always been the controlled one. The coach who never blurs lines. Watching her come undone over you has been… educational."
Jett took a sip of the water the server had left. "You're very direct."
"I don't have time for anything else." She leaned forward slightly. "I'm not here to blackmail you into stopping. Frankly, the idea of you stopping is the opposite of what I want. I want to understand how you did it. How a kid still on scholarship walked into that house and rewired a woman who used to shut down grown men with a single look."
"And then?"
Isabel's mouth curved. "And then maybe I decide whether I want a turn."
The words landed clean and unmistakable.
Jett held her gaze. No flinch. No eager grin. Just the same quiet calculation he always used.
"You're Mateo's mother."
"I am. And you're Kai's friend. The symmetry isn't lost on me." She traced the rim of her cup with one finger. "I'm not looking for a boyfriend. I'm not looking for a scandal that blows up the team. I'm looking for the same thing Marisol is getting—something sharp enough to cut through the rest of the noise. If you can give her that, I want to know if you can give it to me."
Silence stretched between them for several seconds.
Finally Jett spoke, voice low.
"Marisol doesn't know you're here."
"She doesn't need to. Not yet." Isabel sat back. "I'm patient. I watched for a week before I approached you. I can watch longer. But I wanted you to know the board has a new piece on it."
She stood, leaving a few bills under her saucer.
"Think about it. You already know where to find me if the answer is yes. Team dual meet Saturday. I'll be in the stands."
She walked out without waiting for a reply.
Jett stayed seated for another minute, turning the conversation over carefully. A second mother. Another athlete's parent. Another set of high stakes and hidden doors. The shape of the harem was expanding exactly the way he had always intended—one controlled fracture at a time.
His phone buzzed.
Marisol: I keep replaying the garage. The way you held me still. I came so hard I saw static. I need it again soon. Tell me when.
Jett typed back.
Sunday. After the dual meet. Kai will be at the team dinner. Side gate. Be ready.
He sent it, then opened a new note on his phone and added a single line beneath Marisol's name.
Isabel Vargas — Mateo's mother. Watching. Interested. Patient.
He locked the screen, stood, and walked out into the late light.
Across town Marisol was already counting the hours until Sunday, thighs pressed together under her desk while she graded film, completely unaware that the next woman who wanted a piece of the
same boy was already measuring the distance to her gate.
And in the stands on Saturday, Isabel Vargas would be watching them both.