Page 6 of Coach’s Pass (Twin Cities #1)

Coach Schmidt

“ W e need to revamp our offensive playbook, Greg. We can’t be repeating the same plays as last season. Way too predictable.” I say, clearly caught off guard by my candor.

Greg, my offensive coordinator, was a smart guy, who has been a coach for decades, but he’s been coasting along.

Content to run last year’s formations like clockwork, hoping the talent on the field can mask the predictability of his scheme.

Truth is, he’s waiting for a head coach offer to fall in his lap.

He didn’t get an offer last year, because he’s lazy.

The other organizations see that. If lighting a fire under his ass didn’t work this year, I’ll be more than happy to replace his ass.

But I’ll give him a fair shot. Just one.

That’s more than most coaches get at his level.

“Yes sir. I’ll get to work,” Greg mumbles under his breath.

“Good, can’t wait to see what you come up with by the morning.”

“Tomorrow morning?” he stammers, as if I misspoke.

“Yes,” I replied flatly. “Will that be a problem?”

“No sir,” Greg says, quickly scurrying off the field.

From what I’ve seen so far, this team’s a mess. Loads of talent, but no discipline. I was glad to see Jackson’s turnaround today. That kid’s got potential. Adaptability is the most important characteristic a quarterback can have.

Defense looks much better. A bright spot that could still use a bit of polish. Lots of promise on the field, but that doesn’t win championships. Discipline does.

My phone chirped. Twelve Tinder notifications already. I’d downloaded the app while the team was running laps. Figured I’ll deserve some relief soon.

Updating my bio: Looking for something casual. Pretty busy with work. Potentially open for more…

I keep it vague. No need to dump the reality of my three kids right off the bat. When you’re forty-five and working eighty-plus hours a week, finding someone who’s okay with that? Damn near impossible.

If I’m lucky, I’ve got time for a quick coffee or maybe a sandwich between film sessions. Add in the fact they’d need to be great with kids? Might as well be asking to win the lottery.

I just don’t know how long my parents can keep the twins entertained. They’re lifesavers for helping, but even saints get tired.

“ H ey this is Coach Schmidt! I’m calling to see if you’d want to come down for the Platte State game.

Join me on the sideline?” I say on the phone, trying to nail down this five-star offensive lineman out of St. Cloud.

“Great! I’ll have Janet email you the details.

Pleasure speaking with you, bud. Looking forward to meeting you in a couple weeks. Take care now.”

Hearing footsteps echo down the hallway, I glance up from my desk. “Hey Hicks! I’m in here.”

As I watch him stumble inside my office, there’s something fragile in his expression.

His deep blue eyes looking for guidance.

They paired too well with his dirty blonde curls, still tousled, damp from the shower.

The scent of his body wash trails in with him.

Smelling sweet and crisp. His fresh aroma fills my office.

Reminding me of my younger days before I had three kids and a divorce under my belt.

Back then, it was just locker room curiosity.

I’d jerked off and been inside a few of my teammates.

Never on the receiving end though, that wasn’t my style.

We are still good friends to this day. We were trying to learn better maneuvers to satisfy our girls.

Just a normal exploratory phase, I told myself.

But some of those memories had a way of resurfacing at the most inconvenient times. Especially when a twenty-two-year-old stud like Jackson walks into my office. The building’s already quiet, everyone else gone for the day. Just the two of us. And those old thoughts stirring in the back of my mind.

It’s terrible for me to even have these thoughts.

Jackson was my quarterback. My son’s teammate and best friend.

They’re the same damn age. Christ, I signed a contract that specifically prohibited any kind of sexual relations with a student.

It would just be terribly messy of me. I have no intention of breaking my agreement.

However, that doesn’t stop the burning in my core.

Blood rushing through my body as stands there waiting for me to give him instructions.

His wet hair, skin still flushed from the shower’s heat.

That innocent look in his wide eyes that almost makes me forget every professional oath I’ve sworn to uphold.

This can’t happen. It would be a disaster for me, for him, the entire university. One whisper of it and the story would be on plastered all over ESPN, I would be butchered by every sports anchor in the country. I’ve worked too hard to throw it all away for something as fickle as desire.

“Please have a seat!” I say with coerced enthusiasm, trying to escape my inner monologue and slipping back to my professional persona. I gesture toward the designer leather chair across from my desk, keeping myself composed.

Jackson’s here just to go over some plays I drew up. That’s it. I’m the one who asked him to come to my office. I need to remember—I’m in control of the situation. Not my hormones. Or some fleeting urge. Me.

Jackson slides into the chair, sprawling out, ultimately assuming a vulnerable and opening pose. His voice cuts through the tension. “So what did you have in mind Coach?” he asks, locking eyes with me.

“Ah yes,” I stammer, trying to maintain myself and not stare at his groin. He’s sporting some of the scantiest damn shorts I’ve ever seen. Clearly not meant to contain his muscular thighs or bulge. Nearly spreading his legs wide open. Is he doing this on purpose…

I force myself to take breath and clear my throat. “I was watching you closely today, you’ve got great agility on the field. I wanted your input on incorporating some additional option plays? Get you moving more out of the pocket.”

“Coach, I’m here to do whatever you tell me to,” Jackson says, a devilish smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.

I grip the edge of the desk. Trying to focus on the play sketch in front of me. The routes, the blocking schemes. Anything but Jackson Hicks.

“That exactly what I wanted to hear,” I managed to make out. “Because if we are going to win a championship, I need your complete buy-in.”

“Yes sir,” Jackson says in a submissive manor. Leaving his mouth open. As if he’s waiting for more.

“Let’s focus,” I mutter, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.

Jackson nods slowly, “I’ll study whatever you put in front of me, Coach.”

Good lord, he’s egging me on. And fuck is it working. The room is feeling warmer by the second. My cock strains against my pants. Imagining how he’ll feel inside. Guaranteed to be tight and juicy warm. Especially after making him run those laps today. Time to teach him a new form of punishment.

Picturing Jackson’s mouth wrapped around my cock with his mouth. Tears forming in eyes as he tried to suck all of me. Hearing his muffled ‘yes sir’ and ‘yes coach’ as he chokes on my cock. Shoving his blonde curls into my groin.

I should fake an emergency. Light a fire in my office.

Get out of this situation immediately. But don’t I deserve a guilty pleasure?

I haven't had a proper fuck since the divorce.

My libido entirely dissolved in stress until he strolled into my office like a grown man screaming daddy issues.

Smelling like that oh-so-familiar locker room special.

“Come a little closer,” I mumble, barely trusting my own voice. “Drew out this play so you could picture it better.” It’s a weak excuse, I’m starting to give into my desires against my better judgement.

I inhale deeply, whiffing in every bit of his scent as he stood just inches away.

His musk hitting me hard. I don’t move, just waiting for him to make the first move.

Hoping he’ll reach down to grab the bulge pressing against my pants.

But he stays focused, eyes on the play I drew, completely oblivious to what he’s doing to me. Tormenting me.

“Yeah, that looks like it could work. I just gotta wait for a few seconds to bait the defense, then it’d probably be straight to the endzone,” he chuckles, nodding slowly.

Jackson shifts his face towards mine. Lips hanging open. Begging to be kissed. His fresh breath brushing against my cheek.

I shouldn’t. I really should start a fire.

But then I lean in. I kiss him. Finally tasting his mouth. A wave of lust running through me. My head spins with dopamine. My cock quivers, demanding more.

He kisses me back with force, gorging on my mouth like he’s starving. A pleasant surprise that makes my body shake in delight.

I pull all of him onto me. The office chair creaking from our combined weight. Feeling my cock grind into the warm crease of his ass. Pushing up his booty shorts. Feeling his bare skin with my fingers. He isn’t wearing any underwear. Fuck, he really came ready.

Refocusing on his mouth. Can’t get enough of his tongue. Eager and tasting like sin. I kiss him greedier, muffling his pleasure-soaked whimpers. Everything I shouldn’t be sampling. But the forbidden apple? Always the sweetest.

My hands slide down to grasp his ass. Sculpted and solid, barely giving in to my grip. I land a slap to hear his pleading whine for more. God he’s beautiful. Fit and powerful, yet entirely submissive in my lap. What a conundrum. A walking contradiction. Turns me on even more.

“Are you a good boy?” I ask him to test the waters. Watching for his response.

Jackson quivers in my lap, feeling his cock twitch against my torso. “Yes coach.”

All of a sudden, a voice breaks through the heat of the moment. “Schmidt? You still here?”

Shit. Mr. Hoheisal the athletic director.

“Shhh,” I whisper to Jackson, guiding him gently off my lap. He moves quietly, slipping back into the leather chair like nothing happened. I take a deep breath to gather myself. Trying to look composed. Silently begging for mine and Jackson’s cock to recede back inside their respective owners.

“James, I’m in my office.” I yell out, hearing the approaching footsteps. In front of me Jackson smiles, as if he wasn’t just grinding on his coach’s lap.

“Yes, Schmidt, I stopped by to go over some changes with the sponsorship deal,” Mr. Hoheisal says as he steps into the office. Then his eyes land on Jackson. “Well, hello there Mr. Hicks. Hopefully I didn’t interrupt you two,” he chuckles.

Damn. He better not say a word about Jackson’s messy hair or his scanty shorts. God help me— his semi-softie still protruding, nearly hanging out the shorts. I don’t know how I’m gonna talk myself out of that.

“We were just wrapping up some play review. See you in the morning Jackson. Remember eight o’clock sharp,” I say, slipping into my coach voice.

“Yes, Coach,” he smirks, strutting towards the door. “Nice to see you, Mr. Hoheisal.”

“You too son. Now rest up. Lake U needs you,” James says, offering a smile as he settles into the leather chair Jackson vacated.

“Mr. Hoheisal, which sponsorship deal are we discussing?” I ask, trying to sound casual. Thankful that this man must be legally blind. No way he missed Jackson’s bulge when he slid past him.

“The TechCentral deal!” James blurts out, practically beaming. “They agreed to our request. A twenty-percent increase. Bottom line? The football program’s getting a twelve-million-dollar annual boost.”

“That’s fantastic news! Any other changes?” I ask, forcing a pleasant smile. Meanwhile, I’m wondering why the hell he couldn’t have just shot me a text. If he had, my night might’ve ended a whole lot better.

“That’s all! I was overjoyed with the news, I wanted to tell you in person,” James says, genuinely grinning. “Anyway, I’m off to my dinner reservation. Trying out this new seafood place in St. Paul, Summit & Shell . I’ll make sure to send you my yelp review.”

“Can’t wait to read it!” Now please, for the love of God, leave me alone.

“See you tomorrow, Coach, remember Lake U is counting on you!” he laughs, voice echoing down the hall as he finally exits the building.

The door clicks shuts behind him. I survived my first close call. One I did not foresee coming. Especially with one of my players.

My mind returns right back to Jackson. How he sat on my lap, grinding against me. Practically begging for me to split him open. Of course I’d be gentle. But fuck, I haven’t felt this alive in years. Empowered with a lust I haven’t felt since my twenties.

Looking down at the bulge in my pants. My cock got hard without taking a pill. A goddamn miracle. Makes me wonder if my body’s been trying to tell me something all along. Maybe I was always meant to swing for the same team.

Here I am, positively mesmerized by him. I should banish the thought, pretend tonight never happened. Keep my contract intact, but rubbing a quick one out wouldn’t hurt, would it?