Page 85 of Bar Down, Baby

And so he is—he’s carrying a 3.8 GPA.

“Motivated too. Scrappy. Someone you’d like, Bishop.”

Bishop takes off his glasses with an appraising frown as he reviews the stats. That’s as good as a stamp of approval from the guy.

“Great. Let’s get Mackenna and Bishop out to meet with him, see who else has been sniffing around.” I make a note as Mackenna passes me another page of stats on some kids he’s just seen and we move on to the next.

“Excuse me?” A timid girl who can’t be more than seventeen stands in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“I’m looking for Mr. Carroll?”

“That’s me,” I say, standing and crossing the room to where she stands, arms crossed over her torso.

“We just received a package for you. Would you like it sent to your room or brought here?”

I nod, remembering admissions sent some Portland U swag.

“Here is fine,” I say. When she makes a face, I realize there must be something off about it, and I offer to help.

“Coach, mind if I show them the tape from the clinic yesterday?” Mackenna says, putting back on his fleece vest as the brutal central air kicks back on.

“Yeah, fine—I’ll be right back,” I say, passing my phone to him before I follow the girl out the door.

At the front desk, there are three massive boxes full of God knows what they deemed appropriate. Together, we move the boxes to just outside the door. I figure I can push them off onto my staff and let them figure out what’s in there and how to move it.

I walk back into the room where my staff is watching the kid from Green Bay doing a puck handling drill, projected onto a screen. They’re assessing it as I sit back down and grab my legal pad, making a couple quick notes. I can’t remember how much tape we took on my phone yesterday, but the way they’re breaking it down right now, I have a feeling we’ll be here for a while.

“Alright, then this next kid…” Freddy says, swiping to the right on the laptop my phone is plugged into as I make another note. In the future, I probably need to have everyone upload this stuff in advance, so it doesn’t take so freaking long.

The screen changes and the room goes quiet. Then there’s a moaning sound that bursts from the laptop speaker, echoing throughout the conference room. When I look up, I see fingers pumping into a wet, pink, swollen pussy, maximized for everyone on my staff to see. A sweet, throaty mewling sound spills out of the tinny speakers and goes straight to my dick before I realize a room full of my coaching staff is watching my girl finger herself.

“Damn…” Bishop coughs.

I realize Mackenna has hooked up my phone to the laptop and is just scrolling through my video feed. I grab the phone and yank it away from the laptop, nearly knocking the entire setup off the table.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” I’m on my feet, seething. My neck is hot and my hands are fisted and shaking.

“Shit! Sorry, Coach,” Freddy says, his face pale as a sheet of paper. He avoids making eye contact as he shuts the computer. His fingers fumble on the projector as he tries to shut it off as well.

Everyone is quiet and nobody says a word for a long moment.

“I think that’s enough for today,” I say, my voice low and forced. Nobody says anything, much less moves.

“I think we can all forget what we didn’t see,” Freddy says. He’s still pale and his eyes are dilated. In shock.

Before I met her, Megan was Freddy’s friend first. But I can see that even if he won’t forget what he just saw, he’s never going to say another word about it.

Bishop, however, I have no doubt is going to go straight to his room to rub one out. It makes me furious and I grit my teeth to keep from saying something stupid. After all, it’s my own damn fault. I left that video, those pictures on there, and then handed my phone over to a technologically incompetent doofus who can’t be trusted to operate a light switch.

“Take the boxes to your rooms,” I grumble at my staff as I swipe my notepad off the table and push through the door.

I’m pissed off and as much as I want to punch the image out of each of their heads, more than that, I want to fuck my girlfriend. I want to tie her up and devour her until she’s a screaming, writhing mess; I want to hold her head as I fuck her lush, sweet mouth; and I want to pinch her clit while I drive into her, filling her with my cum until she can’t take it anymore.

I call her once I’m in my room and wait for her to pick up. It goes to voice mail. A second later, her text comes through:

MEGAN:At an appointment. Can I call you in an hour?

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