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“‘Sup, Coach? What’s going on?” Matthias Bragg charges into my office with his customary ox-like lack of grace. A senior defensive lineman, the young man is built like a barn and will one day soon be an asset to whatever pro team drafts him. He’s my defense team’s captain, and best friend to my O-line’s captain, quarterback Crispin Harvey.
Crispin follows him into the room, softly shutting the door and taking a seat in front of the desk I’m sitting behind. Matthias follows him and the boys give me their full attention. They’re great young men, and I know they’re hopeful to get drafted together. Unlikely, but I’ve seen stranger things come to pass.
“Doctor Sinclair will be here in a few minutes with his interns. Choose two players from each of your lines who you trust the most and take them with you to meet with the doc and his team. You’re all going to give me piss tests and bring me clearance from the doctor when you’re done.”
Crispin’s jaw drops while Matthias stares at me in shock. They’ve been drug testing as part of athletics since they were young, so I know this isn’t anything unheard of for them. The process is unique though. Typically, there’s a lottery that gets pulled before every couple games and a handful of players’names get called to complete a urinalysis before taking the field. Targeted tests, especially using players selected by myself and my captains, is unheard of.
“Did, uh, did we do something wrong, Coach? Because I swear to you, we don’t use drugs. I swear it.” Crispin’s one of those players who have risen to the top despite coming from a disadvantaged background. His scholarship is the only reason he made it into a Division I school. Having come from a similar background, I understand the almost frantic need he has to not fuck up his best chance at a future free from poverty and struggle.
“Son, it’s because I trust you that you’re in here. I need your help, and I need to create a paperwork trail the protects the team’s integrity while we do it.”
The men do as they’re told without any further discussion. Being obeyed so unquestionably is just one of dozens of reasons why coaching is the perfect career for me. It’s not as fulfilling as Windy’s immediate desire to obey. Definitely not as arousing. But it’s a close second.
I roll my chair away from the desk and kick my feet up onto the messy surface. There’s more work to be done than time to do it, but for now I’m content to await the return of my team captains and let my mind wander to Windy and how fucking perfect it was spanking her ass and licking her little pussy to orgasm last night.
Getting to put my hands and mouth on her however I wanted before tucking her into my bed to sleep had me feeling on top of the world. Like royalty. My concerns about the timing of our meeting pale to the rush of pleasure being able to claim her gives me. Yeah, being Windy’s Daddy makes me a king, and it’s good to wear the crown.
CHAPTER 16
Windy
I’m still ridingthe high of falling asleep with a hot ass and trembling thighs thanks to Coach McCree, err, Daddy’s loving last night. At least, that’s what I’m blaming for my distraction when I bump into the absolutely not-athletic body of the school’s athletic director. How a man so decidedly non-sports-like got to the position of running the entire athletic program of a university as renowned for its championship-winning teams, I’ll never know.
“Miss Howell. Carelessness appears to be a habit for you lately.” Disdain drips from him and it’s only due to years of being conditioned to respect my elders from my parents that I manage to hide my answering dislike.
“S-Sorry, Director Franklin.” I don’t know how it is on other campuses, but here at University of Mariposa, there’s not a jock on campus who doesn’t cringe when they see him coming. He’s a tyrant and a bully, definitely the last person I want to see when I’m in such a good mood.
“Shouldn’t you be on the field for warmups already? I don’t think tardiness is something a scholarship student like yourself can afford. Hmm?” The threat isn’t even thinly veiled. Franklin dangles my ability to finish school over my head like the most obvious Sword of Damocles.
“Yes, Director. I’m going there now. Practice doesn’t start for a little bit yet. I won’t be late. I promise!” Mentally, I want to slap myself for kissing his butt like this.
If Taryn were here, she’d have a great clapback to put him in his place. She’s so good at being bratty in just a polite enough way to keep out of trouble. Me? Not so much.
“Nevertheless, young lady, I think I’ll escort you there. Athletes like you are expensive commodities for this school, and it’s my duty to ensure you live up to your potential value.”
There’s something in his tone. An ugly expectation that in any other circumstance might feel like pervy harassment. Nothing about the appraisal he’s giving me feels overtly sexual, thankfully. It’s just calculating and cold. Like he’s tallying up my value as a human being and finding me lacking. I guess I can be glad it’s not a sex thing. Becauseeww.
We walk side by side around the corner of the indoor training building. The path is wide enough there’s no reason for him to take my arm and pull me into the grass when a student on a bike glides by. That doesn’t stop him, and the feel of his cold hand with fingers clamped too tight for casual guidance sends skitters of nerves up my spine.
“One last item to discuss before you scamper off to kick the little ball around like your heart depends on it.” He’s so dismissive of the sport I’ve bled and cried for. Irritation has me balling my fists and tensing as he tugs me closer to the ball of the building, away from anyone who might interrupt and provide me an out.
“When you suffer injuries that keep you from practice, you cost the program, the school, money. You’re lucky your little tumble on the track the other day wasn’t more serious. It means you have a small latitude to make a decision yourself before I step in and remove your free will.”
Obviously he’s got a point to make, so I stand frozen, my back pressed to the scratchy brick of the wall behind me. His breath fans across my cheeks as he leans in close enough to me that even if someone were nearby, there’s no chance they’d hear him.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask me what your options are? I swear, you idiot athletes are all the same. Doesn’t matter whether you’re on the men’s or the women’s teams. Dumb jocks, the lot of you.”
He’s being deliberately provocative. Psych 101, freshman year. Even my dumb-jock self can tell that. I bite back the retort burning my tongue. Whatever the choice is, I don’t want to make it. Instinctively, I know both options are going to suck.
“Ask me to tell you what your choices are before I become more irritated, Miss Howell.”
“What, um… what are my choices, Director Franklin?” I hate the quiver in my voice. I cast my gaze around me, the quad area that spans the center of campus filled with students and faculty rushing to their morning classes or meetings. No one’s paying us a lick of attention.
“You will start taking Meldonium, that’s Met-88 if you haven’t heard of it before, immediately. You will take it until the conclusion of your senior soccer season. You will tell no one about it and if discovered, you will accept the blame for it yourself.” The drug he’s talking about is one I’ve only even heard of because of the five-time grand-slam tennis champion who got busted using it.
“And if I take option B?” It won’t really be a choice at all because there’s no way I’m agreeing to use a banned drug. Itwould get me kicked from the team if I got caught, and be a scandal for the whole team. Plus, it’s known to have a lengthy list of adverse effects. I’m not risking my future health for whatever Franklin is trying to achieve.
“Either you go on the medicine,”—Ha. Medicine—“like a good girl, or your little dalliance with Deke McCree becomes the reason I nullify his contract and he becomes a publicly disgraced former head coach. Morality clause and all that delicious gossip fodder. You know?”
