Page 5 of The Off-Limits Play

Shit. Coach’s daughter.

It’s like the universe is pointing at me and having a good belly laugh.

You think Coach’s daughter is hot!

She’s so off-limits it’s not even funny.

Sucker!

Yeah, well, fuck you, Universe.

I so don’t need this shit. I’ll just forget about those brown eyes and that playful wink. I’ll forget about the way she could throw and the fact that her butt looked damn squeezable in those jeans. I’ll even forget about the way her tits bounced when she shuffled sideways to catch the ball.

And damn, she caught it every time.

She made it look easy, like she’s been playing the game her whole life.

Snatching up the last of the balls, I shove them into the net bag and scan the field for any other gear. It takes me another fifteen minutes to gather up the last of the pads, and I’m in a foul mood when Coach Perkins comes out to check on me.

“Nearly finished?” He gives me a friendly smile, but I’m not buying it. He hates me as much as Coach Jones does.

“Yeah, this is the last of it.”

He grabs the bag of footballs, and I trail him into the storage room. “Might be a good idea to show up to practice ready to go tomorrow, yeah?”

I roll my eyes behind his back and grumble, “Yeah. Got it.”

“Coach is only trying to help you.”

“Uh-huh.”

His hand lands on my shoulder, and I flinch. He lets me go immediately and nods. “Okay, well, you have a good night now.”

I give him a baleful stare, and he ends up shaking his head and walking out of the room.

I trail after him and head for the showers.

He’ll have locked up and left by the time I’m out. It’ll just be me and Luis, the janitor, and maybe Franco, the laundry guy, if he hasn’t left already.

Taking my sweet time, I soap myself down, trying to figure out what I’m gonna do with my evening.

I could go back to Football Frat and study. That’s probably what Grady and Tyrell are doing. Wily will say he’s doing that, too, but guaranteed he’s in his room playing video games. Although he might head to Offside, the local sports bar.

And then there’s Zander, who is now playing happy fucking family with his girlfriend and daughter.

Shit. I can’t believe I’m living with a two-year-old.

She might be damn cute, but her shits could clear out a stadium, and when she wakes in the night crying, I want to punch my fist through the wall and tell her to shut up. It was supposed to be one night, which turned into three. So, I complained about it, then got told off by Miss Two for shouting.

Zander promised me he’d look for another solution, but it’s been over a week since our argument, and the girls are still fucking there!

Since they’ve moved in, my sex life has taken a serious hit. I don’t feel like I can bring chicks home anymore, and while my captain is no doubt getting his fill—I heard them going for it in the bathroom the other night—I’m jacking off in my own bed and missing the honeys I should have beside me. This can’t fucking stand.

I don’t care if it makes me an asshole, but I’m going to keep complaining until Sienna and Zoey are gone.

Thumping off the shower, I stand there huffing, anger coursing through me in thick waves. I seriously need to do something to dissipate this tightness in my chest.

Fuck studying. I need to get me some.

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