Page 6 of Topping the Jock
Quinn had always been in his head, staring off into space during class and sitting by himself reading a book before school and during lunch. He’d had one friend back then, but hell if I could remember the guy’s name. No. All I remembered was Quinn. Those wide eyes, blush-speckled cheeks, and how he’d nibble his bottom lip when lost to daydreams.
Most of all, I recalled the shock on his face when he’d caught me fucking Tyler in the locker room. But where I’d expected to see disgust, I’d seen only curiosity. Desire. It had turned him on to watch me.
There went my cock again. And fuck, I’d worn athletic pants. Nothing like sporting a boner the whole world could see. I deeply inhaled and tried to inconspicuously adjust myself under the table. I finished my food and downed the last of my coffee before paying for my breakfast and leaving the café. The rain turned to a light drizzle as I walked to my truck, and the chill in the air sent chills down my arms.
Three weeks had passed since I’d moved back, and I was still getting used to the drastic weather change. I’d forgotten about the near-constant overcast skies and how it could piss-pour any moment. But damn… I’d missed it.
Once in my truck, I drove toward the high school. I needed to be there by ten to unlock the weight room so the team could start warming up for their morning workout followed by afternoon practice. School would be starting in another week, and then we’d have scrimmage games leading up to the start of the season. I was pumped for it.
Pulling into an empty parking spot near the gym, I got out of my truck and walked toward the side entrance where I’d told the guys to meet me.
“Hey, Coach Adams!” Dean, one of the football boys, called out. He stood outside the building with a few other members of the team.
“Have y’all been waiting long?” I asked, jingling my keys as I searched for the right one.
“Nah. Gunner’s been here for, like, five minutes, and me and the others got here like a minute before you.”
“Okay. Good.” I unlocked the door and let them walk in first before following behind them.
The weight room smelled like wet socks and sweat, no matter how many times it was cleaned. The smell was absorbed into the floors and walls or something. I flipped on the lights and looked around, remembering all the years I’d worked out in that same room. Being on the other side of it now as a coach was strange as hell. I went into my office and turned on the computer.
Dean, Gunner, Trent, and the others went to the locker room, their gym bags in tow, and changed before walking back out. Gunner ruffled Dean’s blond hair, and Trent—who towered over all of them—laughed and used Gunner’s head as his armrest.
My office faced the weight room, so while at my desk, I had a visual of them as they began their workouts.
Trent spotted Gunner on the bench press, while Dean and four other guys did warm-up stretches on the mats.
Dean caught my eye and smiled.
He was a sweet kid. Smart, hardworking, passionate about the game, and kind to everyone. The complete opposite of me when I was his age. I had bullied kids and acted like I owned the school, all because of my social status.
Quinn had been one of the guys I’d bullied. My gut tightened, and I rubbed at the ache in the center of my chest. Guilt really could eat someone alive.
More guys showed up within the hour, and soon, the weight room was alive with grunts, weights clinking, and music playing over the small speaker one of them had hooked up to his phone. After warming up and lifting weights, some left to run laps in the gym. Others took breathers before upping their weights and doing more reps.
I took the opportunity to work on my syllabus for class. Most coaches also had a subject they taught. For me, it was health. The course explained how to fuel the body with the proper nutrients, but it also covered eating disorders, drug abuse, and sex ed.
“Okay, guys,” I called out a while later, walking out of my office. “You have an hour to grab some lunch and rest before we hit the green for practice.”
“Thanks, Coach!” Gunner said before helping Trent to his feet. He slapped the linebacker on the shoulders. “Big guy here is a sweatin’ fool.”
“Yeah, well, your momma never complains.”
That started a playful shoving contest before Trent put Gunner in a headlock. The smaller boy thrashed around and slapped at Trent’s beefy arm.
“Guys,” I said, suppressing a laugh. “Knock it off and go eat.”
Once the horde of sweaty teenagers left the weight room, I placed dumbbells back where they belonged and wiped down the benches. There was a light thud behind me, and I turned to see Dean placing the last of the weights on the rack.
“Shouldn’t you be eating lunch with the others?” I asked, tossing the dirty paper towel I’d used to clean the benches into the trash.
“I ate a protein bar, so I’m good,” Dean said. “Is it really true you were the starting quarterback in college and got injured?”
“Yeah.” Out of habit, I looked down at my knee. A faint scar curved around my kneecap. A reminder of the night when everything I’d worked so hard for was torn away from me.
“Can you still play ball?”
“Recreationally, yeah,” I answered. “But I can’t move as quick as I used to, and I gotta be careful with it. Another injury to my knee and it could cause me to limp for the rest of my life or worse.”
