“Fair,” I say. “We can finish with some breathwork.”
“That sounds like more my speed,” she agrees, sprawling on her back.
I smile and lie down on my mat next to her, closing my eyes and focusing on my breathing.
“Do you feel better?” she asks after a moment.
“A little.” Seeing Dylan brought up some pretty painful memories, but hopefully he’s only back for a short visit with his dad, who’s the Beckford U soccer coach, and I won’t have to see him again.
“Good,” she says, turning to look at me. “Because I will not be doing that with you again in the foreseeable future.”
“Noted.” I laugh, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “Thank you.”
Chapter 5
Ethan
Andy strolls into my office and raps his knuckles on my desk as he flops into the chair opposite me. “What’s the game plan, Coach?”
It’s an hour till kick-off, and my mind is most certainly not on the game I’m supposed to be preparing for. Nope, I’m preoccupied with the dirty messages I’ve been exchanging with @daring_devil on the Euphoria app.
Clearing my throat, I quickly close out of the photo that came through twenty minutes ago, but even with it gone, I can see my tempting little devil sprawled naked on her bed sucking her cum-soaked fingers. I’ve never wanted to rip the mask off her so badly.
The naughty image, coupled with the memory of what we did via video chat two nights ago, has me stuck behind my desk, my erection straining uncomfortably against my slacks. I should be mad, but in all honesty, nothing has excited me like this in a long time.
Andy smirks, arching a knowing brow. “Who is she?”
“No one,” I scoff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughs. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Don’t tell me. It’s good to see you finally fucking moving on.”
I lean back in my chair, rubbing the back of my neck. Is that what I’m doing? Am I moving on from my marriage? If so, what am I moving on to? A fling with a twenty-something stranger? Technically, it’s not even that. All I’ve done is watch her get herself off.
Three times now.
It feels so wrong to be doing this with someone my son’s age, but I can’t bring myself to walk away. The excitement I get when the next message pops up… I’ve become addicted to my phone, checking the app constantly.
Fuck. I feel like I’m twenty-one again, not thirty-nine and on the verge of a fucking mid-life crisis. What the hell is wrong with me? I mean, I was never a typical twenty-one-year-old. I was too busy raising a four-year-old while struggling through my double degree in sports management and exercise science.
Vanessa was content to be a stay-at-home mum and waited until Dylan was in school before starting her beauty therapy course. Those first six years of his life were tough financially, but we worked hard to give our son a good life, even though he’d been a surprise. I don’t regret having him.
“So, plan of attack?” Andy’s question rips me from my inner chaos.
“Right.” I shake my head to clear it. “The last time we played Northern Rivers, they played long balls, but their left winger killed us with his speed and agility. I think we’d be stupid not to play Bentley tight on him and limit histouch. It’ll expose the backline a little, but if Ritter plays a sweeping left back role, Whitford’s quick enough and skilled enough to get back and cover if needed.”
Andy whistles. “Risky. I like it. But you’re right, Whitford has the skill and pace to pull it off.” He leans back in his chair. “I thought I saw Dyl chatting up some Banshees outside the arena on my way in.”
I grimace at his reference to the female students who are jersey chasers and shoot my assistant coach a warning look. “I don’t think the faculty are supposed to call them Banshees.”
He shrugs. “I call a spade a spade. When did he come home?”
“Friday night. He’s just back for the weekend.”
“And clearly making the most of his time while he’s back.” Andy chuckles. “At least one of you will be getting his dick wet.”
My face screws up in disgust. I don’t need to be thinking about what my son is doing with his dick. “Everything’s about sex with you.”
“Of course, it is,” he says with no shame.
