by B. B. Hamel
I say they can go fuck themselves.
“Straight and true,” I say to Sean on the sideline before we start. “Just keep your eyes downfield. We’ll keep you upright.”
He nods. I smack his shoulder pad. We take the field, and my life practically flashes before my eyes.
We lose to the San Diego Chargers, 21-17. It’s a close game, hard fought. For a second there, I thought we might win.
As I jog off the field, I feel like I fucking failed.
Our first game of the season, of our existence, was a loss. Sure, we did some good things, played well, fought hard against a veteran, talented team, but still. None of those things mattered.
We lost. Fucking hell, we lost.
I avoid the press. I know I have to do a conference eventually, but I retreat from the crowds of people, back into my office. I stare at the desk, wondering what the hell is going to happen now.
Atlas could pull the plug. One loss could set the guy tumbling. He’s been more and more erratic lately, spending more time in the locker room, hanging around the guys.
Hanging around Leah.
I take a breath. There’s a knock at my door. “Yeah?” I call out.
She comes in. I knew she would. I don’t know how, but I knew she’d follow me back here.
Leah smiles at me, shuts the door. “Tough one,” she says.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, sit up straight. “How are the guys?”
“Nothing major,” she says. “Banged up, tired, but they’ll be fine for next week.”
I nod once. “Good.”
She frowns a little, steps closer. “How are you?”
I look away from her. “Fine. We played well.”
“I know. But it’s hard. That was your first game, and… you know.”
I look back at her. “I know what?”
“Atlas has been hanging around a lot. We’ve all noticed.”
I grimace. “Fuck. What’s the rumor mill saying?”
“That’s he’s up your ass, is all.”
“They’re not wrong.” I sigh and stand, wincing slightly.
“Leg hurts?” she asks, concerned, and comes closer.
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to wave her off, but she keeps coming. I let her gently rub my leg, leaning up against my body.
I take a deep breath, looking down at her. I’ve resisted the temptation to take her since that first time, but it gets harder and harder.
She’s so fucking gorgeous, and funny, and smart. I don’t know why I feel this way about a girl half my fucking age… but I want her.
I want to take care of her.
“Better?” she asks, straightening up, inches asway.
“All better.” I smile softly. “You have a gift, you know.”
She grins. “It’s just hard work and a little bit of talent.”
“The great combination.”
She shrugs. “Seriously, Cole. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say softly. I step closer to her, and she looks surprised. I can see the memory of that day flash into her mind. “I’m glad you came back here.”
“I figured I should check on you.”
“Is everyone else too afraid?”
“Pretty much.”
I cock my head toward her. “But you’re not.”
“No,” she says softly.
“Why not?”
She bites her lip. “Because of the way you look at me.”
I laugh gently, tilt her face up toward mine again. “Is that right?”
“Yeah,” she says. “And because of the way I look at you.”
“What way is that?”
She stares into my eyes, mouth slightly open. I know what she’s talking about. I stare at her like I want to fuck her.
Hell, I want to fuck her more than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.
“We shouldn’t, though,” she says. “That’s why you haven’t since… you know. Right?”
“Right,” I whisper.
“So, that’s that.”
“Maybe not.” I lean closer to her. My heart’s beating fast.
I want to kiss her. I know I shouldn’t. I need to concentrate on this season. We’re already off to a bad start.
But her lips, her mouth… she’s so fucking beautiful. I want it so badly.
A rattle at my door pulls me up straight. Leah steps away just as the door opens, and Atlas comes bumbling into the room.
He stares at the two of us. Slowly, he grins. “You get injured today, Coach?”
I glare at him. I can feel Leah’s discomfort.
“She was giving me a rundown of the injuries,” I say.
“Of course. Thank you, Leah,” Atlas says. “Can I have some time, Cole?”
I nod. “Thanks, Leah. I’ll talk to you later.”
She nods and hurries away. She passes Atlas, and he leers at her.
“Pretty girl. I can see why you use her.”
I nearly choke. “Use her?”
“As your little messenger.” He looks back at me, grinning. “Don’t worry. I know the mighty Cole won’t fall for something like that.”
I nod once, eyes staying on his. Inwardly, I’m so angry I could spit in his face.
He walks to a chair and sits, gesturing for me to do the same. “Walk me through it,” he says. “Why did this happen?”
I sit down with a sigh. I knew I’d have to face him sooner or later. Better to get it over with.
As I explain the loss, I can’t help but let my mind drift over to Leah. I wanted those lips, wanted to kiss her, taste her. This stupid asshole just got in the way.
But there will be time for that, especially when I start winning some games.
7
Leah
I keep feeling his lips close against mine, his breath warm on my neck. I wish he had kissed me, or touched me, or pressed me up against that wall and had his way with me or something, anything to release this crazy, wild, pent-up energy I can’t seem to shake.
“What are you thinking about?”
I glance over at Tessa, blinking away the daydream. “Nothing.”
“Looks like something to me. You’re blushing.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” She grins, teasing me. “Are you having a sex daydream?”
“Oh, gross,” I say, looking away from her. I go back to folding towels as she laughs and darts around me.
“Yes, you are! Daydreaming about these big, hulking football players having their way with you.”
I grin a little. If only she knew, the real man I want isn’t a player. “No, thanks,” I say.
“Not into them?” she asks. “They’re always half naked, you know. Letting their… things hang out.”
I roll my eyes. “Penises. Go ahead, say it.”
“Gross. That word is awful.”
“What word would you rather use?”
“Cock,” she says innocently.
I laugh at that and she comes back, folding the towels next to me.
“Honestly though, when I first started this job, I thought I wanted to date one of them,” she says softly.
“Not anymore?”
“Nah,” she admits. “I mean, can you imagine being a player’s wife?”
I shake my head. “Not at all.”
“They work all the time, on the road constantly, and they can be traded at any moment. There’s no solidity for years while they’re in the league and then, if you make it through all that, they’re suddenly out of a job. And if they weren’t smart about money…” She trails off, sighing.
“It’s easy to find yourself in a hole.”
“Or to find him in someone else’s hole.” She gives me a look.
I make a face but laugh. “You’re so gross today.”
“I’m just saying, these guys, they’re always cheating on their wives and girlfriends or whatever. Got a girl in every stadium.”
“They’re too arrogant for me,” I say. “Eve
n if you can put all that aside, they’re just…”
“Cocky. Like they’re the best in the world.”
“And they are,” I point out, “but at this really specific thing.”
“At football. And they’re only the best for, like, ten years at most.”
“Then what?”
“Then they’re all fucked up from brain injuries with no money to show for any of it.”
“Come on,” I say. “It can’t be that bad. They make millions.”
“True. And some of them are smart. Some of them invest it and save it. But a lot of them don’t and when it’s all over, they’re left with nothing.”
“I’d buy a house,” I say almost wistfully. “Something modest, you know? Something with reasonable taxes, so I can buy it in cash and never have to worry about being homeless.”
“Smart girl,” Tessa says, nudging me. “You should be a financial advisor to these guys.”
“God, no,” I say, laughing. “Those guys are as bad as the agents.”
“The agents are almost as bad as the players themselves.” She sighs, finishing her stack of towels and putting it over on the shelf. “There are just too many egos in this whole thing.”
“What about the coaches?” I ask, trying to sound innocent.
“They’re okay,” she admits. “Some of them, at least. The younger ones can be assholes.”
“Coach Wood?”
She gives me a look. “He’s a decent guy. No wife or girlfriend.” She gets a little mischievous look. “You thinking about trying to sneak in there?”
“No thanks,” I say. “He’s twice my age.”
“So, what? He makes bank and I bet he could take care of you. Spoil you a little bit.”
“Not what I’m after.”
“Your loss,” she says, shrugging. “Anyway, I gotta go tape some ankles. See you later.”
I nod as she leaves and go back to my pile. I’m almost finished, but I’m taking my time.
It’s Thursday and practice ended an hour ago. Now it’s just general maintenance stuff, cleaning up, and my day is over.
Except I wish it weren’t. I haven’t heard from Cole since the end of the game on Sunday. I mean, I’ve seen him around, but he hasn’t called me in for a massage or even said a word to me.
I know I shouldn’t be feel jealous or jilted or whatever, since we’re not together. He doesn’t owe me anything.
But we were so close to kissing, inches away. And that weirdo Atlas came in and ruined everything.
I sigh, tossing my towels to the side. I’m finished with the stack, so I walk it over to the shelf, putting them beside the stack Tessa just did.
I hear someone clear their throat. “Baths are open if you’re looking for one,” I call out without turning. That’s why most guys come to this training room around this time, anyway.
“Think I need one?”
I look over at Cole, leaning against the doorframe.
I smile, my heart leaping. “Maybe,” I say. “You did work up a sweat out there.”
He barks a laugh. “Hardly. No, that’s for the young guys.”
“You’re still young,” I say awkwardly.
He laughs again, this time stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. He pushes the lock down on the handle, cocking his head.
“You think I’m young? Or are you just trying to find something to say?”
I grin a little uncertainly, my heart beating faster. “Something to say,” I admit.
“Thought so. It’s better to be older, actually.” He walks toward me. I turn to him, leaning against the counter, my hands gripping the edge.
“Why’s that?”
“Experience,” he says. “You start to see things more clearly. You don’t get caught up in the pettiness.”
“You’re above it all?” I ask.
He grins. “No, not really. But we old folk have to come up with something to help us sleep at night.”
I laugh softly. He stops in front of me, arms crossed over his chest, head cocked.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him, nodding at his leg.
“Not too bad,” he says. “Been doing those exercises you gave me.”
“Every night?”
“Every night,” he confirms. “Even though I don’t want to.”
“Good. Is that why you haven’t called me in for a massage?”
He glances away. “Well. Not exactly.”
“Oh.” I look at the floor, not sure what to say.
“I’ve been meaning to,” he says finally. “It’s just, this season.”
“I get it.”
I look back up at him and I can see the struggle on his face. I don’t understand it, but I feel that same struggle. We barely know each other, and have barely even touched, aside from the day he got me off.
And yet there’s this attraction. We both know it’s there. We both feel it. I know what he wants, and I know I want the same thing.
I just can’t explain it. I can’t understand it. There’s this intensity, this magnetism. And a strange comfort, like we’ve been doing this for years, this back and forth, when it’s barely been months.
He eyes me, stepping closer.
“I don’t think you do.”
“You’re stressed. Under pressure.”
“It’s not just that.”
I bite my lip, looking up at him. “What is it, then?”
“It’s you,” he says softly. He puts his hands on my hips and I don’t move. I can feel my body getting pulled toward him, like I need to press myself closer.
“What about me?”
“I should be spending my days and nights studying tape, thinking about tactics… instead, I’m thinking about you.”
“What can we do about that?”
The words come out quickly, before I can even think about them. I can’t believe I’m being so freaking bold, but there’s something about this magnetism between us that’s making me want more.
Something clicks in his eyes. I can almost see it come on, like he suddenly realizes that there’s no use in fighting.
He pushes himself against me, leans down, and kisses me.
I kiss him back as his taste floods my mouth. Earthy, grass and sweat, his tongue is sweet against mine. I grip the edge of the counter as he lifts me up, sitting me down on top of it, pushing between my legs.
I wrap them around his hips as I kiss him. It’s strange, this feels even more intimate than when he went down on me. This kiss feels somehow as good, or even better.
I bite his lip, making him grunt, and he kisses me harder. He grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling it tight.
I moan as he pulls my chin back and kisses my neck. He pulls up the bottom of my polo shirt, sliding it up and over my head. I let him take it off and throw it down on the floor.
He cups my breasts, pulls my hair, kisses my lips. I grab at his belt, fumbling with it, but manage to unhook it, sliding it off. He grunts and unhooks my bra.
It’s a frenzy, like we’re racing to see who can strip who faster. In the end, he’s standing in front of me, shirtless and wearing just his boxer briefs. My breasts are bare, his hands cupping them, his lips against my chest. My panties are still intact, but ruined.
I don’t care. I run my hands down his chest, his muscles incredibly sculpted and hard under my fingers. He smirks, kisses me, bites my lip.
“This is what we can do about it,” he whispers as he slides a hand down my panties. He teases my pussy, rubs my clit, and I groan.
“I’m glad I can help,” I whisper, smirking.
He pulls my hair back, tipping my chin up. He pulls tight, holding me there, pressing his fingers deep inside.
“Oh, shit,” I gasp. It hurts and it feels incredible, and I hear him laugh faintly.
“I thought you’d like that,” he says. “A little pleasure, a little pain.”
“You really do know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
“I manage,” he
says, biting a nipple, sliding his fingers deeper. He starts to move them in and out, driving me wild.
But it doesn’t last long. He pulls me off the counter, turns me around.
“Bend over, little Leah,” he says.
I look over my shoulder at him, spreading my legs, bending over. He looks at my round ass, spanks me. I gasp, biting my lip.
“What are you going to do with me, Coach?”
His eyes flash. “No, don’t call me coach.”
I blink. “Sorry.”
His eyes soften. “Call me something else.” He steps closer, grabbing my hips. I feel his hard cock pressed against my ass. “Do you want to know what I like to be called?”
I nod and moan as his fingers find my pussy again, reaching around my hips. “Tell me,” I whisper.
“If I tell you, you’re going to have to let me fuck your little pussy until you can’t stop screaming it. Can you handle that?”
“Yes, please,” I gasp.
“I don’t think you can.”
“Please, I can handle it.”
“Mmm, I don’t know.” He plunges his fingers inside of me. “This tight pussy. I’m not sure.”
“Please,” I groan, wiggling my hips.
I feel his lips against my ear. “I want you to call me Daddy.”
I groan, my whole body loosening. “Daddy,” I repeat.
“That’s right.” His fingers pull back. I watch him over my shoulder as he takes off his boxer briefs and kicks them aside. His cock is long and hard as he slowly strokes himself. “Call me Daddy.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I say. “You can fuck me however you want, Daddy.”
His eyes flash desire. He spanks me again, grabs my hips. “Don’t tempt me.”
“God,” I groan as his fingers tease my clit again. He presses himself against my pussy and I have a moment of fear, wondering if I can take him.
But the moment passes as he slides himself deep between my legs.
“Oh, fuck,” I grunt. “Shit, Daddy. Slow.”
He laughs softly, moving nice and slow. “But you’re so wet. It slides in so easily.”
“You’re big.”
“I warned you.”
“I know, but…”
“I told you, you couldn’t handle me.”
“Fuck,” I groan. His cock fills me, every inch of him, or at least it feels like every inch. I wiggle my hips, pleasure and pain. He grabs my hair, leaning over me.