Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
“Well, with the season coming up, I’m going to be pretty busy,” he says. “Lots of film to break down, practices to run. Coaching is a full-time gig and then some.”
Part of me is disappointed he didn’t ask me to spend the rest of the day banging like rabbits, but I know how silly that is.
“How’s the team looking?” I ask.
“Am I speaking to Morgan, my daughter’s friend, or Morgan the sports reporter?”
“Both.”
His smile reveals his dimples, which makes my heart flutter. “Well, in that case, I think we’ve got a pretty good group. They’re passionate, dedicated, they work hard, and have really sound fundamentals. I think this team can do some really special things this season.”
“It’s been a few years since our last championship,” I say. “Do you think this team can get to the top of the mountain?”
“I do,” he answers with a nod. “This is a really talented squad.”
I’d much rather be talking to him about all the filthy things we’re going to do to each other, but he seems to be in coach mode. Mr. Hooper has always seemed happiest when talking about the game he loves so much. He’s a gym rat through and through and was a budding superstar in the pros until a terrible knee injury took it all away from him.
It would be easy for him to be bitter and angry about how it all ended. But he’s not. He still sounds a bit wistful and nostalgic when talking about his time in the pros. He loves the game, so he leaned into his job as a coach and is making the best of the hand he was dealt. I love that about him. I love that he’s always got such a positive, upbeat attitude.
I clear my throat. “Well, I got my recorder, so I should probably scoot.”
“Got classes this morning?”
“I do.”
For a fleeting moment, I harbor the hope that he’s going to ask me to stay and spend the morning with him. Naked. But that’s just wishful thinking.
“All right, well, have a good day today then,” he says.
“You too, Mr. Hooper.”
I slip past him, “accidentally” brushing his arm with my breast, and I swear I hear him groan softly as I do. I smile as I bound down the stairs, grinning to myself.
“Just call me Mack,” he calls after me.
2
MARCUS
Iroll the film back and watch the sequence again and take no more from it than the first fifty times I’ve watched this goddamn sequence. I’m sitting in my office at the house, breaking down some film, so I have some things to talk to the team about at practice today, but my head is not in it right now. All I can think about is Morgan. I shouldn’t be thinking of her like this, but I can’t deny that she has grown up to be an absolute stunner.
I’m not so naïve that I don’t know she’s got a crush on me. Has for a while. And I also know that move she pulled earlier, when she brushed her breast across my arm, wasn’t an accident. She’s teasing me. Tempting me. And yeah, there was a big part of me that wanted to throw her down, push that sundress up, and fuck her silly. It took every ounce of my strength to keep my hands off her because I know she would have let me do whatever I wanted.
The thing that helped keep me from giving in the most was the fact that we were in my daughter’s room. Kelsey would be horrified to learn that I was fucking her best friend. And part of me thinks I should be horrified to even be thinking about her like that.
Giving myself a shake, I try to put images of Morgan out of my head and focus on the task at hand. Our season is coming up, and I’ve got a team to prepare. I watch the sequence on the screen and jot down a few notes, silently congratulating myself for doing my job. It’s not easy, though. Not when I’ve got the image of her in that skimpy little sundress and the feel of her full, round breasts against my arm bouncing through my head. But I manage to get through the film.
I’m sure I missed a lot, and practice today is probably going to be ragged as hell, but I’ll figure it out. I’ll just have the team run some extra laps and tell them it’s conditioning. Yeah, that’ll work. I lean back in my chair and scrub my face with my hands, then check my watch. It’s almost ten and I need to get myself together and get down to the gym.
Getting to my feet, I groan as I stretch my back. I’m forty-one and still a relatively young man, but some days, I feel old as shit. Having spent most of my younger years pushing my body to the limit. In my day, I played all out and gave it everything I had. That sort of beating day after day, year after year, eventually takes a toll. I only got to play in the pros for a few seasons before I blew out my knee, but I was living my dream. And it was all worth it. It’s even worth the discomfort I feel to this very day.