Pete Sebastian, Coach

by Jean C. Joachim

  Her mouth got dry. She swallowed.

  “What is it, Josie?” He glanced at his watch. “I can’t go home yet. Got to finish these last three plays.”

  Totally controlled by her libido, she could hardly speak. Feeling moisture between her legs, she approached him. He ran his fingers through his hair, and she swore she could feel them against her own scalp, combing through her long locks. “I don’t want to go either,” she mumbled.

  Pete pushed away and stood up. He stretched his arms to the ceiling and yawned. His body looked long, lean, and inviting. “What’s up, honey? You look flushed. Are you feeling okay?”

  She sidestepped around the desk to stand in front of him. Fisting his shirt, she pulled him down until their lips met. Noises of surprise made her chuckle as she kissed him. Caught off guard, he tipped forward, sticking his hand out to steady the two of them.

  He raised his head. “What’s going on?”

  “Let’s do it,” she whispered.

  He laughed. “You want to have sex right here?”

  She nodded.

  “What brought this on?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “I’ve been thinking about you all afternoon. Now, I want to do something about it.” She rubbed up against him, her hand flattened against his chest.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Absolutely. Take me on your desk.”

  Again, he laughed, but this time it was a sexier guffaw. “We might get interrupted.”

  “Everyone’s gone home. Are you afraid?”

  “Me? Honey, I’ve had sex in some pretty public places.”

  “Oh?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “But never in the office.”

  “Would you prefer the conference room?”

  “This’ll do,” he said, smiling. “But you’ve got a lot of clothes in the way.”

  “Nope. No stockings, see?” She held out her bare leg. “No bra, either.” She opened the middle button of her blouse.

  He reached in to cup her breast. “Nice. You have the best rack in the world.”

  “Rack?”

  “Okay, breasts. Whatever you call ’em, yours are hot, baby.” His lusty kiss stoked her fires. She slid her hand down his front, delighted to find him growing hard. “Panties?”

  “Nope.”

  His eyes widened. “Commando? You’re ready. Pretty confident I’d be willing.”

  “Yep.”

  He chuckled. “You know me too well.”

  She dropped to her knees and unzipped him.

  “No, no, really?”

  “I don’t want to wait.”

  “I can see that. If you insist—”

  Words stopped coming from his mouth as she lowered hers over his shaft. He was halfway to hard, but Jo was determined to speed up the process. He hissed as she slowly moved over him, her lips soft but firm enough, her tongue flat against him. She glanced up then focused on getting him to where she was—ready for love.

  “God damn you know how to do that,” he whispered, sweat beading on his forehead.

  After two minutes, he was as hard as a steel girder. She gave him one last lick before she arose to wind her arms around his neck and pull him down for a deep kiss. He slid her straight skirt up and over her rump until it was bunched around her waist. Then, he squeezed her bottom, slipping his fingers between her legs.

  “Oh, baby,” he said.

  Pete broke from her, swept the papers on his desk into a pile, and shoved it aside. Then, he closed his big hands around her hips and lifted her up, as if she was made of cotton candy. Jo flinched as her bare butt met the cold wood.

  “You okay?”

  “Cold desk. Hard.” She grinned at him and locked her gaze on his. Seeing lust in his eyes intensified the heat in her. Coach Bass parted her thighs and stepped between them. She closed her fingers around him. “Wow.”

  “You did that.” He eased his hand up then slid a finger inside her. “Oh, honey. You are so ready,” he whispered in her ear before giving her lobe a lick.

  “Ever done this before?” She toed off her shoes.

  “No, but I’ve got this. Just like the kitchen counter.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him, making him laugh. He placed a hand under each knee and lifted. She hooked her heel on the edge. Pete rubbed himself against her then slipped in. She groaned. “God, that’s good.” Her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment.

  He slid his hands under and raised her up a bit, pulling her closer. Her breasts flattened against him. All the while, he kept up a steady pace. Jo’s breath came faster and a sex flush stole up her body, heating her skin.

  Coach was pounding into her, moving the desk back a half inch at a time. Jo clung to him, her arms circling his broad chest, her head resting over his heart. The tension in her coiled up tighter and tighter with each thrust. She closed her eyes again and moaned as a huge orgasm washed over her, her muscles clenching around him, her arms hugging him.

  “Whoa, baby,” he hissed, his teeth clamped together.

  Jo let out a big breath and patted his lower back. She closed her legs, trapping him. Pete pushed in once more, lowered his mouth to her head, and groaned into her hair, muffling the noise.

  The couple clung to each other, sweaty and satisfied.

  “Amazing,” Jo mumbled.

  Pete ran his hands down her back before closing his fingers over her upper arms. “We’d better get dressed in case we have company.” He took two steps back, pulling out of her. Jo clamped her thighs together and grinned. “Satisfied?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied, jumping down.

  As she was yanking her skirt into place and Pete was zipping his fly, there was a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” Pete asked, rubbing his palms on his pants. Jo combed her fingers through her tangled hair and licked her lips.

  “Mahoney.”

  “Come in,” Pete said, before whispering to her, “I’ve got to meet with him.”

  The door opened, and despite their efforts to look nonchalant, Jo knew Trunk picked up on what had just happened. He covered his mouth with his hands as his gaze darted from one to the other. “Sorry, Coach. Didn’t mean to…ah…interrupt anything.”

  “You didn’t,” Pete assured in a clipped tone, avoiding the linebacker’s stare.

  “Thanks for your help, Coach. I’ve got some things to clean up.” Jo beat a quick retreat. The last words she heard before seeking refuge in her office were from Trunk.

  “I’ll just bet you do, Ms. Parker.” Followed by a quiet laugh.

  Back in her office, Jo fished out her underwear. A piece of paper lodged in a crevice came loose. She didn’t have time to check it out, so she left it in the bottom of the drawer. She stuffed her garments in her handbag. With a quick text to Pete, she left the building, anxious to avoid the knowing eyes of Trunk Mahoney.

  Chapter Ten

  The next day, Coach Bass called a brief team meeting in the press room. Jo was presenting the final anger management groups before Pete gave last minute instructions for training camp. Just as he was about to speak, Buddy Carruthers burst into the room.

  “You’re late,” Pete chided.

  “I’m getting married!” Pushing up on tiptoe, the wide receiver fairly squealed.

  “We know that. Now, let’s go on with the meeting,” Coach said.

  “No, I mean now. Like soon. Maybe in two weeks. Emmy’s quit the concerts.” All eyes were on the handsome footballer. “Yep. She got a recording contract from Goldfinch Music. She’s only required to do two shows a year. She’s going to be home, with me, writing songs and recording them. So, we’re getting married.”

  “When?” Coach Bass asked.

  “As soon as possible.”

  There was a buzz in the room with the teammates all talking at once, congratulating Buddy and slapping him on the back. By the time they had settled down, Jo had come up with a blockbuster P.R. plan she was itching to flesh out.

>   When the meeting was over, she slipped out of the room, weaving in and out of the men, avoiding the ones who were bitching about the groups. She cornered Buddy, got the answers to a few questions, and returned to her office.

  After making a few phone calls, she turned to her computer and started typing. The phone rang several times. She finalized more details with each call. When she hung up, she finished typing the one-page document, printed out four copies, and headed for Lyle Barker’s office.

  On the way, she stopped at Coach Bass’s door. “Do you have a few minutes? I have a great plan that’ll get us tremendous publicity—front page headlines with good news. I want to present to Lyle. Will you come and support me?”

  He smiled at her as he pushed to his feet. “Sure.”

  Jo noticed Pete’s hand drift toward hers before he stepped farther away. Holding his hand for moral support would help, but she’d look unprofessional. This isn’t a trip to the doctor. Grow up.

  “Come in, come in. Want a drink? It’s almost five,” Lyle greeted.

  Jo and Pete declined. They sat in chairs facing the owner’s desk.

  “Well, I’m gonna have one.” He hit the intercom, ordered a gin and tonic, and sat on the sofa. “Come on over here. More comfortable.”

  When they were all seated, Edie came in with Lyle’s drink. “Call Cap and tell him to join us,” the owner said.

  Jo was getting butterflies. This was big, really big. “Buddy and Emerald, the rock star, are getting married.”

  “So I heard. Hope his stupid honeymoon doesn’t fuck up our season,” Lyle said, glancing at Coach.

  “Buddy’s mother, Verna, is going to plan the wedding with Emmy,” Jo continued.

  “Emmy? I thought he was marrying Emerald.”

  “They’re the same person. Emerald is her stage name. Anyway, I thought we could have it here.”

  “Here? In the stadium? What a dumb idea—a wedding in a football stadium. Have you lost your marbles?” Lyle took a big gulp.

  “Hear me out. They could get married after the opening game. In front of all the fans. That’ll bring in Emerald’s fans too, increasing ticket sales.”

  At the mention of increased revenue, Lyle straightened up. “Go on, I’m listening.”

  “They get married on the field after the game. A helicopter carries them off. Buddy has agreed to postpone their honeymoon until after the season is over. We’d have to pick up the tab for the wedding.”

  “Hmpf. How much?”

  “I don’t know yet. Emerald isn’t going to get married cheap. But think of the press we’ll get, in addition to the ticket sales.”

  “Yeah, lots of press, but not exactly free.”

  “And I want to add five dollars to the price of the tickets.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “As a donation to the New Life shelter.”

  “What the fuck is that?”

  “Lyle, remember we talked about this? The women’s shelter? New Life?”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah, women and kids who got beat up. Got it. Go on.” He motioned with his hand.

  Jo stood up and began to pace as she spoke. “So, we’re raising money for battered wives and their children as well as hosting Buddy and Emerald’s wedding. Think of how great we’ll look. And we’re not even donating the money to the shelter, just using a bumped up ticket price. The fans are donating the money. We’ll probably raise thousands and thousands of dollars.” She glanced at Coach Bass and raised her eyebrows.

  “I think it’s a great idea. Think of the size of the crowd. And on opening day! What a way to start the season,” he piped up.

  “Every major network will cover the wedding. And, of course, the story about the charity. Think of how wonderful the Kings will look.” She beamed.

  “I don’t give a fuck how we look. I just want to win games.” Lyle stared at Pete.

  “We’re going to. We’ll have an amazing season. But think, Lyle. When it comes to contracts and the draft, guys’ll want to come to us. We’ll be everybody’s first choice—the team that wins the Super Bowl and has a heart…and a presence in the world of rock and roll. It’s a win/win, if you ask me.”

  Pride in her lover swelled Jo’s heart. He’s pitching it with all he’s got. Gotta love that man.

  “I’m getting double-teamed here,” Lyle said, glancing at Pete, then Jo, then back at the Coach again. “Okay, okay. I can see you’re set on this. It had better be good. And not cost too much. I want an estimate on my desk tomorrow afternoon. Tell that Emerald chick to be careful with my money.” He downed the rest of his drink and pushed to his feet. Jo knew it was his signal that the meeting was over.

  She and Pete left the office. Jo hardly sensed the floor under her feet. Lyle had approved her idea, so completely out of his wheel-house. And Pete had helped her sell it. The sunlight shone brighter.

  At dinner that night, Jo bubbled on and on about her plans while she threw together salad and heated leftover lasagna. Topics included meetings with Emmy and Verna, visiting the shelter, and the pleasure she’d get from telling Samantha the good news.

  “I’m glad you’ve got your project off the ground,” Pete said.

  She leaned over to plant a quick kiss on his lips as he twisted open two beers.

  “That’s great for you, but I’m up the creek. Where the hell am I going to find a replacement for Curly Hawkins? Training camp is about to begin.”

  “We’re not going to have that discussion again, are we?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “No discussion. He’s gone, and I need a new trainer. Someone with experience.”

  “Do you know anyone?”

  “Hell, if I knew anyone, I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  She shook her head. “No reason to get testy.” Her back stiffened.

  “I’m sorry, honey.” He covered her hand with his. “I’m edgy. Some of the guys are bitching about their anger management groups, Devon Drake isn’t performing, and Trunk Mahoney may be leaving. Plus, Lyle expects us to win every game.” He ran his hand through his hair.

  “That’s a big burden.” Jo took a mouthful of salad.

  “Every team out there is gonna be gunning for us. We’re the team to beat this year. The champs. And I’m one trainer short. Not great timing.”

  “Maybe the guys know someone.”

  “I have an idea, but it’s pretty farfetched.”

  “What is it?”

  “Let me nose around first. Then, I’ll tell you.”

  She lifted her fork. “Keeping me in suspense?”

  “Don’t want to look any more stupid than I have to.”

  After eating, Pete donned his shorts. “I’m going for a run.”

  “So soon after dinner?”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  As he headed for the door, Daisy barked at him.

  “She doesn’t want you to go. And neither do I.”

  “Worried?”

  “A little. What if you get a cramp?”

  “I’m not going swimming, though that’s not a bad idea. I’ll be fine. If I get a cramp, I’ll deal with it.”

  Jo chewed a lip. “You haven’t looked at the anger management list.”

  He stopped with his hand on the knob. “Should I?”

  “Well…”

  “Who am I with?” His back straightened.

  “No one. Management people are having solo sessions. Lyle agreed to pay more for that.”

  “Then, what?”

  “You’re first.”

  “I’m what?” His voice jumped several octaves.

  She paced a bit while she spoke. “I just thought that the guys would feel better if the coach went first. You know. Then, they’d know it wasn’t fatal or terrible or anything. If you lived through it, then they could too. You know?”

  He laughed. “What the hell? Fine. I’ll go first.”

  She blew out a breath. “Good. Thanks.”

  He leaned over to kiss her.
“Anything for you, baby.” He patted her rear then left the house.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Jo and Pete went to the office early. At eight o’clock, he sat at his desk and stared at the field outside his window while he sipped his third cup of coffee. The pile of papers on his desk involved memos regarding contracts, new drafts, scout reports on promising college players, a medical report on Bullhorn Brodsky, and new plays to analyze.

  Pete got up to pace. He did his best thinking while moving, a trait of a good quarterback. Trying to focus, all he could do was remember his tryst with Jo on his desk. He chuckled at the thought of his conservative, professional girlfriend horny and taking no prisoners. She was an animal. Full of surprises. He returned to his chair and snickered while he ran his palm over the surface where they had made love.

  She had seemed so shy at first. And he had to admit she still was on many occasions. But not in the office and this one time, not when the mood struck her. His cell rang, interrupting his thoughts.

  It was Lexie. She was crying so hard he could hardly understand her. “He said he had the okay to hire us both.”

  “I can hardly understand you, Lexie. Who?”

  “The man at the newspaper.”

  “Hey, if he could only hire one—”

  “That’s what he said. He said he’d give us a try-out.”

  “Okay. What happened?”

  Tears escalated to sobs. “He got us there at eight last night. He said he’d hire the one who gave him the best blow job…” Her words became indistinct.

  “What the hell? What the fuck? I’ll murder him!” The blood drained from Pete’s face then rushed back as he leaped up out of his chair and paced back and forth in front of the window, spouting epithets, spitting in anger.

  “Daddy. Daddy!” It was Alyssa. She was screaming into the phone to get his attention.

  Pete stopped to take a breath.