Coach Daddy (Dark Daddies 3)

1

Leah

“Can you keep a secret?”

I stand and stare at the handsome man sitting at his desk across from me, his blue eyes piercing into mine.

Coach Wood is really freaking hot. I mean, I don’t normally gush over guys. That’s not really my thing. But this man is so stupidly attractive that I genuinely don’t understand how I’m even standing in the same room as him.

Every girl on the training staff keeps talking about it. He looks like a model, older and more rugged and more muscular, but his face is like perfectly symmetrical. His eyes are the sort of blue that almost makes you uncomfortable, but in a good way.

I have no clue how old he is, but he must be in his forties. I mean, he’s the head coach of an NFL team, so he can’t be young. It’s hard to say exactly just based on his looks, since he’s so handsome, he could pretty much be any age.

I’d guess forties, though. Ever since I was hired by the Fargo Chainsaws and started a few days ago, I keep finding myself stealing glances at the coach, imagining his lips against my neck, his hands on my body, and now here I am alone with him in his office and he wants to know…

If I can keep a secret?

I clear my throat. “Uh, yeah, I think so.”

“You think so?” He raises an eyebrow, a little smile coming to his lips.

“I think so,” I repeat. “Depends on the secret.”

He laughs. “Shut the door, please, Leah.”

I hesitate, but I step further into his office and shut the door behind me. There are a few people still in the locker room, a few huge defensive lineman unwrapping their catcher’s-glove-sized hands.

“It’s a secret about me,” he says. “The sort of thing that I don’t want getting around the office, you understand?”

I nod, eyes a little wider than normal, trying to understand what’s happening here. “Okay,” I say. “I think I follow.”

He sighs. “It’s nothing sinister. It’s just… as a head coach, I’m expected to be tough. These guys would eat me alive if they knew.”

I stare at him, blinking a little. What the heck is he talking about? I mean, what could his secret possibly be?

Coach Wood looks like the manliest man imaginable. He’s like the sort of man you’d see in a commercial for axes or something like that. Or maybe truck commercials. Yeah, he’d be changing a tire without his shirt on, sweat rolling down his perfectly sculpted pecs…

Ahem. I can’t imagine what kind of secret he’d have that would make anyone think less of him.

The man’s a specimen. A finely-tuned specimen.

“I think I should just show you,” he says, suddenly standing up.

“Okay,” I say stupidly.

He comes around the desk, unbuckling his belt. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to see it,” he says, “but believe me, it’s there.”

I bite my lip, heart pounding. “Uh, is that necessary?” I ask him as he slips off his pants. He’s wearing black boxer briefs underneath, and I swear I can see the bulge of his cock.

“It’s an old injury,” he says, almost as if I didn’t speak. “Got surgery on it a while ago, but it never really healed right.” He sighs, both hands on his right quad. “See what I mean?”

I manage to tear my eyes away from his package long enough to notice the long surgical scar running down the length of his upper thigh. I blink, surprised at how ugly it looks. Whoever did those stitches did a freaking horrible job.

My mind suddenly snaps into place. He’s showing me an old injury, one that was fixed at some point, but clearly not fixed well. I’d guess a broken femur, maybe even shattered. I step closer to him, kneeling down to examine the scar.

“I was young and dumb once,” he says, laughing softly. “Never imagined I’d be an old man in constant pain.”

“You’re not old,” I murmur, staring at his leg. “Do you mind?” I ask as I reach for it.

“Go ahead,” he says.

I prod at the spot, touching the scarred skin. I’m in total professional mode, but there is a voice in the back of my head that’s screaming right now.

I’m kneeling in front of the most handsome man in the world, his pants down around his ankles, touching his bare thigh. His cock is seriously inches from my mouth.

I glance at it. Shit, shit, I glance away. I can’t look at his dick when I’m this close to him. Concentrate, Leah, you idiot.

I take a deep breath and pull away. “Hurt?” I ask him.

“Constantly.” He rubs it softly. “I was hoping you could help.”

“I have some ideas,” I say. “But how did you get that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

He pulls his pants up and buckles the belt. I wish he wouldn’t.