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 his touch.
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.
“Why am I even friends with you?” I mutter under my breath, but it only makes him laugh more.
“Your life would be pretty boring without me, mate, and you know it.”
My thoughts drift to my tempting little devil again, and right after I’d just got my dick under control. If it weren’t for Andy pushing me to go to the club, I wouldn’t be doing whatever it is we’re doing.
Needing to distract myself before I kick him out of my office and do something stupid like jerk off to her photo and send her the evidence of what she does to me, I push to my feet and grab my team board.
“Come on, let’s go get the win.”
He follows me out of my office and falls into step beside me as we make our way towards the locker room.
“I heard Whitford’s been on the radar of some scouts?”
I nod in confirmation. I’ve had a couple of phone calls about our captain in the past week. “Not just local.”
Andy jerks his head to look at me. “Serious?”
“Yeah. If he plays his cards right, he could be jetting off to Europe.”
“Can’t deny, the kid’s got natural talent.”
“That he does.” I push open the doors to the changerooms, the electric anticipation for the game engulfing me before I’ve stepped inside.
This feeling doesn’t get old.
The low hum of conversation fills the space like a live current, but it cuts off when we enter. Sixteen men turn to look at us, hunger in their eyes and fire in their bellies.
“How are we feeling?” I ask, clapping our captain, Luca Whitford, on the shoulder as I pass.
A chorus of, “Good, Coach,” fills the room, and I grin.
Andy moves over to the whiteboard, and I head towards our goalkeepers, who are tossing a ball back and forth in the corner.
Our reserve, Zac Kincaid, meets my gaze before swallowing and dropping his head.
He’s a good kid, quick off his line with a shit tonne of potential.
When Mitch Peters graduates at the end of this year, I have no doubt the team will be left in good hands.
After a quick check-in with the keepers, I join Andy at the whiteboard, and the players gather around, kitted up and ready to lock in.
“What are we hoping for today?” I ask, scanning their faces.
Some are bouncing on their toes, shaking out their pre-game jitters, while others are stoic and steady, gazes fixed on mine.
“The win,” they shout in unison.
“That’s right, boys, but so are Northern Rivers.
We know they’re tough competition, but to be the best, you’ve got to beat the best. You’ve each got a role to play today, and if we stick to our tactics and set plays, we’ll be a force to be reckoned with.
Win your one-on-one battles, and we’ll win the game. ”
A chorus of, “Yeah, boys,” and “Let’s do this,” echoes around us as the team get around one another to psych each other up.
Andy and I go through our starting lineup and our plan of attack. The players nod their heads as they listen, throwing out more encouragement.
“Alright,” I say finally, clapping my hands together. “Let’s go warm up.”
The room erupts in noise as the boys rally, and Andy and I follow them onto the pitch.
At half time, the scores are tied at nil all.
We’ve had the majority of the ball, but we’ve also had some close calls.
A corner for Northern Rivers almost resulted in an own goal when the ball ricocheted off Ritters’ boot.
Luckily, Peters was ready for it, and the crowd heaved a collective sigh of relief along with the bench.
When the team crowds in at half time, I hold out the board, moving the magnets around and drawing up a new play.
“Right, boys. They expect us to bring it down the wing and cut in behind like we did in the first half, but it hasn’t created enough chances.
Instead, we’re going to have Peters play out to Noah, who’ll come down the middle. ”
“Switch up to a diamond formation?” Noah asks.
“Nice,” Luca says, nodding. “They won’t see it coming.”
I move some more magnets. “We’ll overload through the middle, playing a four midfielders diamond formation that will give us an advantage of four on three.
West, as striker, I want you to come in deep towards the midfield and draw your defender out.
Our wing backs will time their runs to get the switch of play. ”
The boys nod along, and I move two more magnets. “This will allow Whitford and Walters to slip behind them and create more scoring opportunities.”
The players murmur their agreement, and I step back to let Luca rev up the team as captain. We’ll miss his leadership when he inevitably gets picked up by an A-League club.
As the second half gets underway, I nervously pace the sideline shouting instructions to the players.
“Push across.” I call to the defenders.
Ritter wins the tussle and sends a beautiful through ball to Whitford. “You’ve got time.”
His shot goes wide and they set up to defend as the opposition goalkeepers plays the ball long.
“Come on, ref,” I yell, throwing my hand up in the air at a bad call by the linesman. “He was clearly offside.”
We narrowly avoid conceding a goal, and Noah takes a touch before racing up the pitch towards our scoring end. “Switch it!”
He does, giving it off to one of our midfielders. “Pass and move.”
The ball gets turned over, and I groan. “Man on! Come on boys, let’s lock in.”
In the eighty-second minute, we finally get a chance as West takes a clean through ball from Ritter, turning on his player and switching it out to Walters, who times his run on the right perfectly.
He’s got the leg speed on his defender, and dribbles towards goal, one on one with the keeper.
Just as I think he’s about to take the shot, he cuts it back to Whitford, who slices the net.
I pump my fist, keeping a lid on the celebrations.
We still have twelve minutes left with stoppages, and Northern Rivers won’t go down without a fight.
They kick off, playing the ball around and testing for weakness in our defence.
Their striker takes a shot, which Peters saves.
We get another chance, this time with West, but it hits the cross bar.
In the dying minutes of the game, there’s a scramble for the ball in our forward half that results in a corner. With a perfectly aimed kick by Whitford to the back post, West headers it into the net as the ref blows the whistle three times.
Game over.