Page 8 of Coach’s Pass (Twin Cities #1)

Coach Schmidt

I follow behind Jackson, noticing the redness around his eyes.

He’s been crying from before I picked him up from that curb.

His old man must be a real piece of work.

Grade A prick. If I ever meet the guy, I’ll have to keep my hands in my pockets.

Otherwise I’ll land him one right in the gut if he thinks he can be a piece of shit to his own son.

We reach his door. Jackson turns to face me, those pouty eyes catching mine. “I’ll see you in a couple hours,” he murmurs.

“Let me help you settle in. I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.

” I should leave. After what happened in my office, I have no business stepping inside his apartment.

But I couldn’t help it. He’s been bawling his eyes out.

And seeing him like that? It doesn’t sit right with me to leave him all alone.

“Thanks Coach,” he says, a subtle smile tugging at his lips.

We step inside, his penthouse apartment is spotless. Floor-to-ceiling windows show off the whole Minneapolis skyline. So, this is where the team’s discretionary budget goes. Hell of a view for a college kid.

The door clicks shut behind us.

He walks into his bedroom, and I follow—telling myself it’s just to make sure he’s okay.

But the second I turn the corner, he peels off his shirt.

His back is to me, muscles flexing beneath smooth skin, the faint trail of sweat still clinging to him from earlier.

My throat tightens. I know I shouldn’t be here watching him.

Admiring the way his blonde hair contrasts beautifully against his bronzed skin. His alluring ass still covered. I just want to tear his pants off and taste him. Hear him beg for me.

I glance down at my watch. We only have thirty minutes before we need to get back to the stadium. I don’t want to rush this. I had to savor every second I have with him. Stealing moments, I’m not supposed to have.

“Come hold me.” He pleads, lying down in his bed, bare except for his white briefs. Struggling to hold his soft bulge.

Jackson looks irresistible. Plus, he’s had a rough day with his father. I can’t say no.

I sink into the bed beside him, drawn in by his warmth, his body molding to mine. Jackson’s scent hit’s me, clean but slightly musky. Simple, yet overwhelmingly intoxicating.

Wrapping my arms around him, my hands gliding across the hard lines of his muscular abdomen, gently massaging the tension from his body.

He lets out soft whimpers, barely audible to my ears.

“There you go… you’re okay. I’ve got you now.

” Meaning it with all my heart. Some part of me aching to care for him in all the ways his father never did.

I press a kiss to his taut neck, feeling the ripple shiver through his body. “That’s it. That’s a good boy. Let your coach take over.” I coax.

“Yes coach,” he moans submissively. Closing his precious blue eyes and letting out a deep breath. Realizing he’s safe with me.

I savor every ounce of him, gently kissing every square inch of his back. Not missing a single vertebra. Treating him the way he always should’ve been treated.

“How are you feeling?” I whisper delicately into the shell of his ear.

“Much better, I never want this moment to end,” he admitted with a sly smile.

“Me either babe.”

Shit.

Why did I say that? When did this go from an accident of a kiss to me calling Jackson babe.

Fuck what a slip of my tongue. He’s my quarterback, we can’t be in a relationship.

Not without me destroying my career and my relationship with my son.

But I can’t take it back either… I’ll break it to him later. Why ruin this perfect moment?

I gaze down at my watch. Christ—it’s already time.

“Hey, Jackson,” I say, giving him a firm squeeze. “We’ve gotta head down to the field. Kickoff’s in two hours.”

He groans softly, nuzzling closer for just a second before pulling back.

“We should probably leave separately,” I add. “Last thing we need is anyone asking questions.”

“Yeah that’s a smart plan coach. You always know the next move,” he chuckles.

“I’ll see you down on the field, alright?” I give him a quick smile, then head out of his apartment.

God, please don’t let me run into anyone on this floor. Trying to explain why I was up here—in my star quarterback’s apartment—would be a hell of a mess. And I’m not sure I’m a good enough liar to pull it off.

The elevator dings. I step inside and exhale, shoulders finally dropping once the doors close.

What the hell am I doing? I didn’t want to stop whatever I had going on with Jackson, he’s a sweet guy.

Makes me feel something I haven’t felt in years.

But he deserves someone his own age. Not a grayed up forty-five-year-old with three kids.

It’s okay. We will figure this out. Right now, I need to focus on the game plan.

We’ve got to come out strong against Platte State.

A nationally televised game, every snap under a microscope.

Any weakness we show, will be on display for the whole country to see.

At least Jackson’s head seems back in the game.

Now I just need to find a way to ban his father from stepping foot on campus.