Page 3 of Coach's Son
I drag in a puff, blowing out the vapor into the darkness of the night. Horns blaring and innocent couples strolling beneath me. The distant roar of the Mississippi echoing to my balcony. So many potential victims…
My nostrils whiff in their frailness. Their desire to please me. But I've got my target set.
I think the lad’s name might be Asteroid? What kind of bum-fuck name is that? His parents better be astronomers or some shit, because that’s a bloody miserable way to live.
Chapter 2
Austin
“UghIcan’tbelieveI’m going to be on the same team as Jackson Hicks,” I groan, burying my face into the toasty-warm pillow.
I never want this feeling to end. The snugness of our shared body heat underneath the linens. Why can’t I spend the rest of my life in a ceaseless hibernation? Immune to the perils of this world, avoiding my problems for the rest of the eternity, sheathed in the arms of my British hunk.
Birthdays, Thanksgiving, and family vacations will never be the same. They will all be tainted by his blond presence, his fingers enlaced with my dad’s. His cocky smirk challenging my patience. His teeth undeniably white and parallel. Everything about him is fricking perfect.
Charlie’s arm tightens around me, his fingers leisurely tracing down the center of my sternum, ethereal and comforting. His snug muscles keep me cozy and entirely too good at making me forget why I’m pissed off. And that fuzzy dark treasure trail…
“Well, love, technically he’s just the guy tossing you the ball,” Charlie murmurs, dabbing the hair from my forehead. “You don’t have to braid friendship bracelets or anything of that sort.”
I sigh, shifting against him to snuggle impossibly closer. “He’s got everything. First-round pick. Penthouse downtown. And now my goddamn father? I swear, if he steals you too, I’m setting North Timber Field on fire. All because someone has a shitty father, that doesn’t give them the right to marry their best friend’s dad.”
Charlie chuckles in his obnoxiously posh manner. “Love, if he so much as looks at you wrong, I’ll kick a ball through his smug teeth. You have nothing to worry about.”
I twist slightly to glance up at him. The spitting image of British genetics gone right. Dark curls are a mess, just oily enough to shine in the morning light. His defined jaw is covered in coarse scruff. Walnut-brown eyes, speckled with subtle amber undertones—crinkled at the corners with that signature don’t-take-life-too-seriously look.
He always knows exactly what to say to keep me from spinning out or from spiraling into a wretched pit of despair.
“I mean it,” I mutter with a sigh. “You’re the only thing keeping my brain from exploding through my skull.”
Charlie smiles, that stupid cheeky grin forcing my heart to fumble a beat. “Good. I savour being your sanity and your big spoon.”
In the offseason, my father and Jackson Hicks—yes,thatJackson Hicks—decided to take a picture-perfect vacation to Costa Rica. Somewhere between swimming with the dolphins and lounging in the equatorial sun, my dad slipped a ring on his finger. They’d known each other for barely six months.
I didn’t tell my dad to knock it off, but let’s be clear, I absolutely do not condone a forty-five-year-old father of three proposing to my twenty-three-year-oldex–best friend. And if that weren’t enough?The football overlords in the sky thought it’d be hilarious to draft us both to the same pro team: the Minnesota Lumberjacks.
This season is going to be unbearable.Watch out folks—an Austin Schmidt pity party coming up on channel four!
I know my situation’s not much better. I’m twenty-three and shacked up with a thirty-nine-year-old, but at least Charlie’s not a father of three, my head coach, or my best friend’s father. We just happen to be on the same football team, but at least our relationship had startedbeforewe shared the same turf.
And not to mention, Charlie isn't anyone's father.
His endearing lips envelop mine, momentarily making me forget all of my grief with the world. “I’ve only got eyes for you, darling. Not your ex-best mate or your father. Solely you love. You are simply too bloody handsome to let anyone else have you.”
I got lucky with Charlie. We met after I took a chance and messaged his headless torso, drawn in by those impeccable abs and an irresistible treasure trail. And a hankering to get fucked into oblivion. That first night was chaos in the best way. The heat, the screaming, the sheets sticking to our skin. We went at it until neither of us could stand, trading sweat and breath and every ounce of milk we had. Rounds blurred together, each one more primal than the last.
I’m surprised somebody didn’t call animal control on us that night.
Since then, we’ve been inseparable. He’s been my security blanket in a life that’s only gotten more chaotic, and my favorite kind of trouble when I need to forget everything else. He makes me feel like I'm the only boy in the world.
I sigh against him, trying to vanish into the kiss, but my shoulder muscles are still locked up tight. Like they are deprived of magnesium or maybe some fatherly attention.
“I just… hate the way they act like everything’s fine. That I didn’t lose my best friend and my family in one fucked-up rug pull.”
Charlie leans back just enough to snuggle his forehead with mine. “Austin. Look at me.”
I do, reluctantly as if I could possibly resist his glossy corneas. His brown eyes are tantalizingly inviting, the shade of a grizzly cub’s fur in the late summer sun. They’re cozy and agonizingly difficult to look away from. The same ones that shrouded around on me draft night, that lit up when I ran my first pro route in camp.
He places a hand nimbly on my jaw. “You can trust me. I’m not going to betray you. I’m not your father and I’m not Jackson.”
