Nico groaned but did as instructed. The center snapped the ball to Nico who retreated into the temporary safety of the pocket. He looked to his left, saw Matteo was double-covered in the slot, and ran to the right. He had seen the clip enough times, had relived it enough times, to know what came next.
But Cooper paused the memory. “Why did you run there?”
Nico shrugged because he didn’t have a good answer. He saw clearly the point Cooper was trying to make, but was too stubborn to admit it. Too stubborn to point out the tight end, Sawyer Preston was wide open in the center of the field. Further down the field, Kaiden Lox was open in the red zone.
“I know you have eyes,” Cooper continued. “Yourinstinct is to run as soon as you can and that’s a habit we have to break. You’re not progressing through your reads properly before you get scared. Scared men don’t win football games.”
And Nico took that personally.
“Fuck off,” Nico howled.
“What did I tell you?”
“Specify please.”
Cooper pushed the tablet to the other side of the couch. “About telling me to fuck off.”
“Yeah,” Nico laughed. “But this time I’m joking, so there’s no need for you to look at me like….”
Nico’s words trailed off as he felt Cooper’s gaze upon him, dark and steely.
“What. Did. I. Tell. You?” Cooper asked, each word deeper than the last.
Nico’s eyes rolled to the top of his head as he attempted to recollect the full conversation. “To… earn it?”
He looked back to Cooper for confirmation and quickly found it.
“Have you?” Cooper asked. “Earned it?”
“If I’m a…” The words were so ridiculous, so loaded, that Nico couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Not with the way Coach was looking at him.
“If you’re a what?”
“You know what.” Nico swallowed an empty gulp.
The distance between Cooper and Nico seemed to lessen. Their thighs brushing against each other at first and then squeezing, like being trapped between the ends of a vicegrip.
“You’re not saying it,” Cooper growled.
“If I’m a good boy,” the words came out so low, he might as well been whispering them.
“And how are you going to be a good boy?”
“By being a better quarterback.”
“In the context of how I’m looking at you right now, do you really think I’m talking about football?”
Up until that point, Nico wasn’t exactly sure. There was an off-chance Callahan had other intentions in the way he pressed his body against his, in the way he pleaded with him to repent. Doubt jumped out the twenty-second story window and all that was left was silence as the game faded into the halftime show in front of them.
A hand fell upon Nico’s, soft at first—as soft as an athlete’s hand could be, anyway. And then firmer, stroking and guiding. Nico let Callahan take the lead, let him guide his hand to the other man’s lap. The heat was the first thing Nico noticed, and he dropped his gaze to Callahan’s shorts. He noticed the outline of the coach’s cock. Thick. Rising against the fabric and then falling, leaving creases behind until the space would fill again.
Cooper traced his fingers up the back of Nico’s palm and circled there patiently.
Nico needed no more guiding. He reached forward, palmed the other man’s cock through his shorts. It felt familiar, but not. Felt wrong, but not. Felt like this was such a breach of the coach-player contract, but he’d always loved breaking rules.
Nico had tested Cooper the day prior in the locker room. He felt a spark of something unfamiliar, and needed to know if it was something real. Needed to know ifCooper felt that same spark. Cooper believed he had all the power, but this was exactly what Nico wanted.
Game. Set. Match.
