This is fucking bullshit.
It’s the first game of the season, and I’m sitting on the bench.
I’ve been working my ass off for Coach Thompson during training all week, and I know I’ve outperformed most of the other guys on the team. I don’t mean to sound rude, but it’s just become more and more obvious that this team’s a joke compared to the one I just came from.
I have so much to offer the Calton Wildcats, yet Coach Thompson doesn’t want to use me.
Just before half time, the other team scores a touchdown. Although both of our teams are in the bottom league and we’ve been pretty evenly matched throughout the game, it’s clear that this other team is slightly better, especially without me on the field.
“Hey Coach,” I call out. “Put me in. I’ll catch us up and then some!”
“Sit down and know your place,” Coach Thompson hisses at me, stepping off the field to do so. “And your place isn’t with my daughter.”
“What?”
What the hell does his daughter have to do with anything? We’re going to get killed out here, and he’s using this opportunity to teach me a lesson about his daughter?
“Don’t act like you haven’t been staring at her all night, and ever since you started out on this team,” he spits out before jogging back to the sideline.
I roll my eyes, and Christian looks over at me as if to say “I told you so.”
This guy is really serious about his daughter, I think.
And I don’t even know what he’s so mad about. All I’ve done is look at her, and talk to her in the cafeteria, but he doesn’t even know about that. And Chelsea started that conversation, anyway.
I’m annoyed, but I decide not to let it get to me. Coach Thompson obviously wanted me on the team for a reason and when he needs me enough, I’m sure he’ll let me play. And then he’ll be begging me to keep playing once he sees how much I can help the team.
Sure enough, just before the end of the first half, the first string quarterback gets an injury, and it’s my turn to shine.
“All right, Reynolds, you’re up,” the coach says, begrudgingly. “Don’t make me sorry I’m doing this.”
As if he has any choice, I think, but I can barely contain my enthusiasm as I run onto the field.
Within just a few minutes, it’s half time and I’m hoping that the first string quarterback’s injuries aren’t so serious that he’s really hurt, but that they’re serious enough to keep him out for the rest of the game so that I can really have a chance to play.
During half time, the cheerleaders do their thing on the field and of course I can’t resist looking, even though Coach Thompson is staring me down. All of them are at least decent looking— better-looking than most of the ones at my old school, I have to admit— and in the past I would be finding ways to hook up with most of them.
But now I can’t help but focus only on Chelsea. Not just because she’s forbidden fruit, but also because she’s that smoking hot. And she’s staring back at me too, almost the whole time she’s performing her routine.
She tilts her cute blonde head in my direction, as if issuing an invitation. And I smile back slyly, as if accepting.
I imagine her looking at me like that in bed, while I’m behind her and she’s on her hands and knees.
I like this game we have going. I want more of it. But I have to remind myself I have a real game to focus on.
Half time is almost over, and I’m pleased to find out that I’m still in the game.
The offense huddles, and Coach Thompson relays some tactics I don’t entirely agree with. I know my old coach would have run a different play, which I think would be better.
I consider running it even though Coach Thompson had ordered a different play. But I hesitate, knowing that changing it could put me at further odds with my new and apparently very cantankerous coach.
Finally I decide that the potential reward outweighs the risk. This team needs to fucking switch things up if we’re ever going to have a fighting chance. And I just can’t seem to stop myself from taking risks. There’s some part of me that hopes to impress Chelsea, and maybe even Coach Thompson.
Once my teammates are back on the field, I call for another huddle despite the confused look on Coach Thompson’s face.
“Look, guys, I know I’m new, and you have no reason to trust me. But I’m a winning quarterback from a winning team. And I have an improvised version of Coach Thompson’s tactics that I want to run. I really think it’ll work, if we can pull it off right.”
Everyone looks skeptical and a few guys voice their discontent.
“Wesley, Dude, are you sure?” Christian asks me, shaking his head. “I know you like to show off, but this could make or break…”
“I’m sure,” I tell him. “Just go with it. We have to do something to take the lead, you know? No offense, but what you guys have been doing the whole first half without me hasn’t been working.”
Some of the guys snicker in agreement, even adding comments like “What we’ve been doing for the last three years hasn’t been working either,” while others grunt their disapproval or shrug their indecision.
“I guess the worst that could happen is that we continue to lose,” Christian admits.
“Or Coach Thompson will make us run laps as a penalty for going against his call,” someone else says.
Most of us shrug, apparently agreeing that that outcome wouldn’t be so bad, compared to losing the first game of the season.
“Do what you need to do, man,” Christian says.
I appreciate his encouragement, although I don’t really need it.
Once I’ve made my mind up to do something, there’s no fucking stopping me— for better or worse.
“Now let’s do this,” I say, as the second half officially starts.
Luckily my teammates listen to me, and we begin the play. As expected, the opposing players react to counter our initial tactic they were expecting us to run, but my unanticipated pass grants our team the opportunity to score a touchdown.
My teammates go wild with the thrill of victory, but Coach Thompson isn’t impressed. He stomps around on the sidelines, yelling at us— and me in particular— about not listening to his leadership.
Once the offense and defense switch, I approach him, not wanting to stay on bad terms.
“Sorry, Coach,” I begin. “I just had a feeling that this other play—”
“I’ll deal with you later, Reynolds,” he says, tersely.
Shivers run down my spine as I get a glimpse of what Chelsea had to grow up with.
“And I’ll deal with the entire offensive team later. Everyone will be punished,” Coach Thompsons announces loudly. “But for now, let’s focus on winning this game.”
I detect a note of excitement in his voice that he can’t seem to hide even through his anger.
“He’s glad we scored, even though he hates my method of going about it,” I whisper to Christian.
“Shut up,” he hisses back at me. “Do you want to get everyone in even more trouble?”
His face is red and he’s glaring at me in obvious anger.
What’s up his ass? I wonder, but I just shrug.
Many other teammates come over to high five me and congratulate me on the call. I guess Christian’s just jealous. Even though he had told me to go for it, and it had worked.
Our team manages to hold the tie throughout the second half, and finally we end up scoring again and winning the game. My team members seem shocked, but ecstatic. Apparently they’re not used to this degree of success.
I turn to Christian as soon as the game ends, unable to resist gloating.
“Told you we’d win,” I brag. “And Coach Thompson is just upset at how I went about it.”
“Yeah but can you blame him?” Christian replies. “You couldn’t even wait to get on better footing with the coach before you just stormed in here and changed things up.”
He looks genuinely mad at me, and I feel a bit betrayed.
“So you really wanted me to just let us lose?” I ask him, incredulous.
He shrugs.
“You just have no concept of respect,” he blurts out. “You think you can just come in and take whatever you want.”
I just shake my head.
I’m over trying to figure him out. I just chalk it up to sour grapes.
I look over at Chelsea, who is finishing up leading a cheer along the sidelines.
Damn right, I think, as her curvy ass bounces underneath her short skirt.
I imagine it doing that as she gyrates in my lap, sliding on and off my dick.
No one has ever accused me of not pursuing what I want. I wanted to win this fucking game for the Wildcats, and I did, no matter what it took.
And what I want right now is that head cheerleader— coach’s daughter or not. And I’m going to get her no matter what it takes.