Page 22 of Falling for the Quarterback

Unknown: I see. Well, that’s bad.

Unknown: And you know that bad girls get spanked, don’t they?

Unknown: Oops. Sorry. Was that suggestive, Professor?

Unknown: I guess that means we have one more night to be bad together.

Damn him. He went in for the kill shot.

His dirty talk is a huge turn-on. Maybe I have a kink and never knew it until Joel showed up in my life.

And maybe this forbidden game of rule-breaking that I’m playing with him is what has me excited about something, or someone, for the first time in a very long time.

I love a good game.

ChapterEight

Hendy

My classes are done for the day and I’m bored as fuck.

In the past, I would have had football practice or strength training or meetings with the coaches to occupy my time. Then in the evenings, I’d do homework and hang out with the guys to chill and game together.

But now they’re both gone and living their lives in their new careers.

I walk through campus and am ready to head home when my feet automatically veer toward the field house and the stadium. It may make me a glutton for punishment, but I want to see what’s going on with the team.

Entering the side door, I give a nod to Dexter, the security guard, who pumps a fist in the air as I walk by.

“Good to see you, Hendy,” he says in his booming baritone voice. “You coming to give the team a pep talk?”

I chuckle because I’m anything but peppy these days and would be no good at motivating anyone, much less myself.

“’Sup, man? Nah, I’m just checking in to see what’s what,” I offer noncommittally. “Maybe I’ll watch a bit of practice.”

He nods. “They’re not looking as good as they used to. They sure could use your leadership on the field again.”

Talk about a dagger to the heart. Damn, that hits hard.

I give him a wave. “Thanks. See ya later, Dex.”

I breathe in the air within the corridor, the scent thick with sweat and dirt, but it brings with it a flood of nostalgia and memories. Good times that I miss more than I care to admit. I head down the hall toward the building exit that leads out to the field.

A few more steps and I’m passing Coach Brewster’s door, which is open, and the light is on. I’m surprised to see him sitting at his desk with his head bowed forward propped in his hands. My first instinct is to say hi, but it looks like he’s either concentrating on something big or he has a headache. In either case, I’m not about to disturb him, especially since I have no reason to be here. I quietly walk past the door, leaving him without interruption, when suddenly he calls out to me.

“QB One, is that you?” he asks in his usual brusque voice. I stop in my tracks and peer my head around the doorframe. Coach’s head is now cocked to the side and a strange look is on his face. “Get your ass in here, Hendy.”

I do as he says—because no one ever dares to contradict Coach, even if I’m no longer one of his players—and stride inside, where I stop behind one of his desk chairs.

“Hey, Coach. I was just going to?—”

He interrupts me without apology. “You’re just the man I needed to see. Take a seat.”

Coach waves me toward the chair and, confused at his comment, I do as he says and plop my ass down on the seat. I place my backpack near my feet and check my posture so I’m not slouching. He can’t stand slouchers.

He lifts his ball cap and runs a hand over his thinning dark hair, tucking it under the hat before he leans back into his chair.

“How’s the new semester going for you? Are you keeping yourself busy, son?”

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