Coach Daddy (Dark Daddies 3)

“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.7LeahI 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. “Even 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.”