Page 1 of Coach’s Pass (Twin Cities #1)

Jackson

T he locker room is empty except for me and him. He shoves me against the cold metal lockers. The man’s voice lingers in my ear, “Stay still.”

His hands roam down my back, confident and unwavering. I can’t see his face, but I know it’s him. Coach Schmidt. My entire body trembles, but not with fear. Lust.

I try to take a deep breath, attempt to speak, but I can’t. My mouth won’t move. All I can do is feel him. Indulge in every moment of his forbidden touch. His body presses against mine. I shouldn’t be craving this. My own father would be ashamed of me if he found out.

Then he asks, “Do you want this?”

“Yes Coach,” I whimper.

He leans in, lips caressing my neck. “That’s my good boy.”

My entire body shudders in joy. I love it when he calls me a good boy. His good boy .

I snap back to reality. My eyes refocus and my skin is slicked with sweat from the imagined contact.

Christ, I shouldn’t be daydreaming about his father, but ever since watching his press conference last month, I couldn’t get him out of my damn head.

Coach flexing in his tight Lake U polo. His biceps practically ripping through the sleeves.

That hint of silver in his beard. Every damn night since, he’s been invading my dreams. And now, it’s happening during the day too. Creeping in when I least expect it.

This isn’t like me. I’m not gay, not by a longshot. I’ve been with girls my whole life. Had a smoking hot girlfriend on her way back to me. I loved the way it felt to be inside her. How she looked wearing only my jersey.

Something else must be going on with me. Probably just some weird hormonal stress thing. Pressure from the season, my dad, and too many energy drinks ruining my REM sleep.

I’m ripped out of my thoughts by a loud snap across my back.

“Bro, I love training camp,” Austin hollers, grinning like a jackass as he whips a sweaty towel against my bare back. The slap echoes in the muggy air.

“Fuck off,” I mutter, smirking despite myself.

The late-July heat is brutal. Scorching sun beats down like it’s trying to melt the grass. Whoever said Minnesota is a frozen wasteland clearly never wore full pads in ninety-eight degrees with ninety percent humidity. Tell that to my drenched jockstrap and compressions.

“Yeah dude, we are going to steamroll Platte State. Those poor bastards are going to be running back home with their tails in between their legs,” I say, fumbling with my jockstrap.

They’re barely a D1 school, a piece of cake before we get into our conference play. The Big Twenty. Toughest conference in all of college football. If you want to win the national championship, you had to be in the league. Otherwise? Good fucking luck.

“Hell yeah that’s what I like to hear!” Austin leaps up to give me a chest bump, rubbing his hard pecs against mine. He slicks back his luscious black hair. His deep brown eyes stare into mine, full of pep.

“I’m sure my dad is going to be baller for our team,” he says proudly.

Can’t really argue with that. Coach Schmidt had one of the best seasons outside the Big Twenty last year with Gulf State. Solid play-caller. Disciplined and sharp. Fucking hot too. I keep that to myself.

My grin stretches wider as my mind drifts to the real prize. Pasadena. The National Championship. Standing under the raining confetti with a trophy in one hand and a future in the other.

I’ve been the starting quarterback since freshman year.

A five-star prospect right out of Bemidji.

Dual-threat with the arm and legs to back it up.

Yeah, I’ve set school records for passing yards and passing touchdowns.

The stat sheets are padded with my name.

But none of that matters if I don’t win it all.

This is my last shot before the pros. I have to win the big one.

We got close last year. Then Oregon beat us in the semi-finals.

I swear they got ahold of our playbook or something, shut us out entirely.

It was humiliating. An ending that plays on repeat in my head, night after night.

Still, I’ll take those nightmares over the ones where I see my father’s face.

At least Oregon didn’t look me in the eye while I cried and scream at me to get the fuck back up.

ESPNs got me projected as their top QB draft prospect.

Top of the board with analysts calling me the next franchise quarterback.

But that doesn’t matter to me. What I care about is pride.

Winning a national title. Bringing it home to Minnesota.

To Lake University, to the fans who’ve backed me since I was eighteen.

And maybe… maybe finally making my father proud.

That grumpy bastard’s never cracked a real smile at anything I’ve done.

Even when I threw six touchdowns in a single game.

Not when I shattered the school’s all-time passing record.

Or even when I got my first offer from Alabama in tenth grade.

Nothing’s ever been enough. If I bring home the big one, perhaps he’ll see me.

Maybe my father will finally say something I’ve never heard. “I’m proud of you son.”

I’m glad we have Austin’s dad coming in as our new head coach.

Coach Brad Schmidt, the silver fox himself.

The only problem is that he’s already haunting my dreams. Showing up behind closed doors; whispering things I’m not supposed to want.

Touching me in ways I shouldn’t be craving.

But they’re just dreams, right? No way I’d actually go through with them.

Our last one, Eric Henderson got canned after his third DUI.

Third one in three years. Guy was a complete drunk, but I’ll give him credit.

Dude could recite our playbook after downing a twelve pack.

Pretty impressive if you ask me. Not exactly a top tier coach, but he did take us pretty far. That won’t cut it this season.

Coach Schmidt’s fresh off a divorce. Austin said he wanted to coach him for his final season and be closer to Minneapolis for his two younger siblings. Said they needed more family support.

But that’s the thing, I need a full-time coach. Not a part-time dad juggling ballet recitals and custody hearings. If he can’t separate family from football, this whole season’s already dead in the water.

Still, I’ve gotta give the guy a fair shot.

He finished a legendary season at Gulf State.

Working wonders with what he had down there.

Ending the season ranked in the top ten.

That doesn’t happen by accident. Rosters stacked with talent wash out every season.

Austin’s dad must have some kind of tricks buried up his playbook.

I take a long swig of some ice-cold water, letting it hit the back of my throat before jogging back onto the field. The whole offense waits for my command.

“Hike,” I bark. I step back and scan the field.

Austin’s blanketed in triple coverage. Looking to my left—Ryan.

He’s wide open, I launch a spiral just ahead of him.

Leading him just enough. He hauls it in like the absolute stud he is.

Ryan’s got magic hands, never misses an open catch.

He sprints to the endzone for a touchdown untouched.

Just like we drew it up in the playbook.

“Touchdown baby!” I shout, pumping my fists, testosterone surging through me.

It’s only training camp, but I can feel it in my chest. We’re gonna go far this year.

I’m fortunate enough to have studs like Austin and Ryan on my team, two outright beasts that I can count on every snap.

When all three of us are locked in? There’s not a defense in the country that can stop us.

“That’s a good way to end the day!” Ryan calls, yanking me in for a quick bro hug.

“With some brewskis?” I joke, already picturing a cold wet can in my hand.

“Why not? We better savor pre-season while we can,” Ryan laughs, slapping my back before trotting off ahead of me toward the tunnel.

As we undress in the locker room, I couldn’t help but notice how shredded Ryan’s gotten over the offseason. Sweat making his abs gleam under the fluorescent light.

I’m mid-glance when he breaks the silence.

“How’s your girl Alexia been?” he asks, letting me see all of him.

I jerk out of my daze, “She’s been good. Actually, she just got back into town this morning. Can’t wait to go surprise her with some of this guy,” I laugh, as I let my hung prick sway freely between my thighs. Purposely showing him who has the bigger cock between us.

Ryan snorts, shaking his head at me. “Always so damn proud of yourself.”

Alexia won’t be expecting me this early. Usually, practice runs till five or six. I couldn’t wait to pound her. A few weeks is a long time to go without a proper lay. Feeling how swollen my balls had become. Plus, I’m a good boy, there’s no way I would cheat on her.

“Yeah bro I know what you mean. Claire has been out of town for the past couple days and it’s killing me,” Ryan snickers, starting to stroke himself.

“I tried to open up our relationship, but she shut me down every time. Guess it’s solo time tonight before I meet up with you at Ralph’s.

But God, could you imagine, two chicks begging for you at the same time? ”

“Christ, that’d be hot,” I grin in response. Truth is, I’m content with Alexia. We understood each other. Low drama, solid banter, and nights watching Netflix while stuffing our faces with Chipotle. And she was smoking hot. A loaded rack and plump curves. What else could a guy ask for?

I step into the shower, cleaning myself of my musky sweat. Making sure I smell irresistible. Lathering myself in body wash and soap. Letting the steam hit the air. Enjoying how the tepid water soothes my sore muscles.

Grabbing my towel to dry myself. I quickly got dressed. Couple sprays of my class Calvin Klein cologne. I head for the door, calling out over my shoulder, “See you at Ralph’s!”