I grind my teeth when she lowers herself another inch. There’s almost no space between us. “Hannah.”
“I want to feel you.”
“You can’t feel me?” I give in to temptation and lift my hips, close to losing myself entirely when the head of my cock pushes past her pussy lips. “Do you feel me now?”
“You’re so big, Brody. I want you to fuck me and—” Hannah pulls her mouth away from my neck. I rub a hand up her back, grabbing some of her hair. “Is that your phone?”
I blink, yanked out of the trance she’s put me in by the sound of my ringtone echoing down the hall. “Shit. Yeah. I think it is. I’m sorry. I hate to be the dickbag who pays more attention to his phone than to you, but I need to check it. It could be Olivia or her mom letting me know?—”
“Don’t apologize. Family first.” She smiles and climbs off me. My eyes rake down her body, and I have to stroke myself when she holds up a foil square. “I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“Two seconds.”
I kiss her forehead and almost sprint down the hall, ignoring the twinge in my knee. My daughter left the arena with Kali, my ex, after the game, but they both know my phone is always on. I never consider the days I don’t have custody a childfree time, and if Olivia needs me, she has my full attention.
I grab the phone off the table where I left it in the living room and roll my eyes at the name on the screen. I silence the noiseand walk back to Hannah’s room, tossing it on the pile with my clothes.
“Not important. Just my drunk captain calling me.”
“You’re not going to answer it?”
“Why? So I can hear him sing some terrible karaoke song?” I climb back on the bed. Run a hand up her leg, squeezing when I get to her hip. “He called five other times, which tells me he’s plastered. I’m not dealing with that.”
“What would be your karaoke song?” Hannah hisses when I push a finger inside her. “Something dark and gloomy, I bet.”
“You’d never catch me doing karaoke.” My phone rings again. I look over my shoulder and Maverick’s name flashes across the screen a second time. “You know what? I’m not going to wait to kick Miller’s ass. I’m going by his house first thing in the morning with a marching band.”
“Just answer it, Brody. You can tell them to fuck off, then you can fuck me.”
I can’t help but smile when she sticks out her bottom lip in a pout. Another call comes through. This time, it’s Hudson.
“That’s a tempting argument,” I say.
“Here. I’ll do it for you. They’re probably so drunk they won’t recognize my voice.”
“Be my guest.”
I hand over my phone and Hannah answers it, just as I push another finger inside her.
“Brody’s phone.” She gasps, a hand on my wrist. “Can I help you?”
I don’t hear what’s being said on the other end of the line, but I can tell something is wrong. Hannah freezes. She moves her hand to my shoulder, tapping me. I look at her, watching her palm shake as she shoves the phone in my direction.
“What?” I ask.
“This sounds important.”
The thing they don’t tell you about being a coach is how you assume the role of big brother or father figure to the guys on your team. There is glitz and glamour and all the good stuff that comes with winning, but you’re also the one they turn to when something goes wrong.
I’ve been there for the death of parents. Divorce announcements and guy’s wives miscarrying.
There’s no manual or guide for empathy, and you figure out how to navigate the heavy shit as you go. Balancing being a human while also being a professional athlete is hard, and I know firsthand it never ends up how you want.
I sit on the edge of the bed and take the phone, pressing it to my ear.
“This better be really fucking good,” I bark out.
“Coach?” Hudson croaks, and my spine straightens. “Is that you?”
