Page 5 of Her Nebraska Touchdown Daddy

“Not a lush. I really don’t drink alcohol, like, ever. Not on purpose anyway.” She’s the cutest shade of pink as she tries to convince me. I realize that my sweet girl is naturally submissive enough that even speaking up to tell me I’m wrong is a challenge.

I’ll never expect her to accept everything I say without question, but I’d be a liar if I didn’t accept the rush of satisfaction that her instinctive obedience gives me. I’ve always been a controlling partner, even when I’ve tried dating vanilla women. The inborn need to dominate my partners has been the destruction of plenty of otherwise-happy relationships. It’s why, after the last one blew up in an embarrassingly public manner, I’ve been waiting to find a woman who actually wants to be taken care of the way I need to take care of them, before dating.

“I believe you, Windy. I’m only teasing when I call you that. Paul told me you’re a very good girl, one of his players who never breaks rules or gives him any trouble.” The whole time I’m speaking, her little head is bobbing in agreement. I can tell it was really weighing on her, thinking I believed she was a naughty girl who broke team rules.

“It’s okay if you tease me, Sir. Only I didn’t like you thinking I broke Coach Vanderman’s rules. That’s Taryn’s job.” She giggles and covers her blush as she tattles on her friend. I love hearing her call me Sir, but hopefully soon she’ll swap out the honorific for the one I really want to hear from her husky little voice.

“I know, babydoll. Although the rumor mill says Bodhi Wells might be putting a stop to all of that. Did you hear?” I lean in to whisper the campus gossip like I’m not already clued in to why Bodhi’s babysitting Taryn. As unlikely as it might seem for the women’s soccer and men’s football coaches to be close, I’ve known Paul since I was an athlete here myself and he was only the assistant coach for the women’s team.

“Come on then, little lush. Let’s get you to your dorm so I can wrap these ouchie knees in ice packs.” I scoop her into my arms, and just like before when I carried her, she wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face against my throat. I hoist her high enough that she won’t be able to feel the way her nearness affects me. Little girls don’t need to be bothered by their Daddy’s hard-ons until the time is right.

“If you’re sure it’s okay, then thank you, Sir.” The whispered words move her lips against my skin and want, liquid and rich like the smoothest brandy, burns through me.

I’m so focused on carrying her lithe little body to her dorm it doesn’t even occur to me the spectacle we’re undoubtedly creating.

Head Football Coach Carries Student Athlete to her Private Room.

That’ll likely be the caption of social media post making its way around campus in the next few minutes, and by the time I realize it, we’re nearly to her place. Too late to worry about the gossip mill now.

When we get to the women’s athletic dorm where I know Windy has a room, I carefully jostle her around until she’sperched on my hip like a toddler. Though she’s petite, her little body is packed with firm muscles that give her thick curves a lithe grace. I've enjoyed watching the way she moves as she practices with her team in the cavernous indoor athletic facility all the teams share.

When I have her securely tucked against my side, her legs wrapped around me like she’s a baby koala, I indicate the keypad to the elevator that will take us to her floor. I know she lives in this building from the other night, but I’ve resisted stalking her student records like some sort of creep.

“Use your passcode to get us to your floor, babydoll.”

Windy obeys, and again when we get to the door to her room. The indicator light turns green but before she pushes the doorknob to open it, she looks up at me through thick lashes, shy suddenly, and I go on alert. Is there someone in there she doesn’t want me to know about?

“I, um, I have a private room on account of being a senior, and…” She trails off and I’m honestly anxious about what she’s so nervous to tell me.

“And?” Patience may be a virtue, but it ain’t mine.

CHAPTER 6

Windy

I don’t knowwhy I’m so tongue-tied about letting Coach McCree into my room. It’s not like I’m a messy person who leaves piles of food wrappers or dirty laundry all over. I’m not sure even that would be reason enough to be embarrassed for Coach McCree to see my room. He probably wouldn’t care even if I was a .

I care though. For whatever reason, there’s a whole herd of elephants wrestling alligators in my tummy just thinking about disappointing Coach McCree. And he will be disappointed once he comes in my room and sees all the things the space says about me. It’s all so pointless, the impossible crush I’ve developed on this sexy, older man. I can barely hope for a small chance I could ever get him to look at me like I’m anything but an immature, ditzy klutz who can’t manage to attend a party without accidentally getting drunk or run laps on an oval track without falling down.

Once he opens the door and sees my dorm, it’ll burn into his brain how much younger I am. And not just in chronological age. Beyond being awkward around other people, I’m what my bigsisters call ‘attitudinally immature’. Things that most twenty-one-year-old women care about seem silly to me, and the things I like are considered childish by most of the people my age. Why should I care about what color purses are in fashion this season when Lego releases new builds almost weekly?

“Still waiting for the rest of that ‘and’, little lush.” My cheeks feel hot every time he calls me that, especially now that I know he says it to tease me.

“Just, I mean, I really don’t—” The way my words jumble and tumble isn’t going to do me any favors in contradicting what he’s about to see. Eventually, I simply shrug my shoulders against his chest and push the door open. A picture’s worth a thousand words anyway, right?

Coach McCree carries me over to the narrow twin bed and sets me down on the Thor bedspread without comment. A gentle nudge is all it takes to have me toppling back against the stack of pillows, though he grabs the round one shaped like Captain America’s shield and wedges it under my knees to elevate the sore joints. Everything in my room is decorated with collectibles and toys from my favorite superhero universe.

There’s a half-built replica of Starlord’s ship that I’ve been working on while I study, taking up nearly all of the carrel-style study desk in one corner. Coach McCree has to carefully step over the stack of textbooks on the floor between the desk and the sink that’s separate from the tiny water closet that only has enough room for a toilet and stand-up shower. If I were a regular college senior, that stack of books would be on the desk.

I wait for his comment, sure he’s thinking the same ‘she’s so childish’ thoughts everyone else seems to have when they get a look at my space.

It’s fine,I tell myself. Nothing I’m not used to already. In fact, I’m so used to people judging my interests that I rarely bring anyone here at all. Taryn being the exception, of course. Mybestie always hums when I wring my hands or get embarrassed about liking toys and says it’s impolite to yuck yums.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, babydoll. I think I understand now.” Coach McCree doesn’t say anything about the character-printed water bottle or the stickers all over my mini fridge. He doesn’t even get that pinched look I’m used to seeing when people realize I’m different. The one that says they’re judging me silently but holding back their negative comments because ‘it’s polite’.

“You do?” The words pop out before I can shush myself.

“I think so, little lush. You were worried I’d see your hobbies and interests and be demeaning about them. Weren't you?” Coach McCree is so blunt, but it doesn’t feel mean-spirited.

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