Riding Red(33)
After a hard practice, the boys are tired but ready. I think we are all feeling the adrenaline of the first game of the season and I’ve got my fingers crossed. It’s my first ever game as coach. I send them all to the showers as I talk to the assistant coaches, making sure everyone is ready, giving them assignments to go over tonight. This isn’t just a big game for the school, it’s also a big game for me too. I want to show everyone that these boys have what it takes. With this being my first coaching job, some of the media is bound to be here, and if there are scouts watching, I want these boys to have the best opportunity to show off.
When I walk through the double doors of the locker room, I head to my office, which is off to the side. I pass a row of lockers, and stop short when I hear the Megan’s name.
“Who knew little dorky Megan would sprout up like that? Never knew a Harry Potter shirt could give me a woody. I bet that pussy of hers is cherry tight.”
“Oh yeah, nobody’s gotten in there yet. I plan on getting it first Saturday night after the Homecoming dance. She’s gonna be all mine.”
It takes everything in my body not to rip apart the lockers separating me from the boys on the other side. I heard one of the juniors, Atkins, talking, but I know Croy Anderson is the one talking about fucking her. I should go over there and break it up, but my fists are clenched and I’m gripping the playbook so hard I’m about to rip it in half. I can’t beat a student, I can’t beat a student, I can’t beat a student, I keep chanting in my head over and over.
“I saw that hickey you left on her neck. Nice way to mark your territory, Anderson.” I hear a slap on the back.
“Oh yeah. Gotta let everybody know she’s claimed property. Can’t let anyone get that cherry before I do. She fucking loves it when I suck on her. She likes it everywhere, if you know what I mean.”
My eyes go blurry and I blink a few times, trying to remove the red from my vision. I’ve had all I can stand, so I stomp around the lockers to the other side. When I round the corner, everyone looks at me, but my eyes are locked on Croy.
“Anderson! On your feet!” My voice echoes through the locker room, and he pops up off the bench looking like a scared little shit. Good. He should be scared. I want to rip his lying face off, but I control it. I can’t go to jail, because then I’d be without Megan, and he’s not worth it. “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk in here again. Do you understand me, boy?”
He nods his head nervously, but I wait for a response. “Yes, Coach Burns.”
“I want you back out on the field. You’re running laps with Coach Evans, and once he feels like you’re done, you’re going over the playbook front to back. Then you’ll come in early to go over it with him. We clear?”
“Yes, sir.” He looks defeated as he walks past me, back out of the locker room, but I don’t give a flying fuck.
I turn to the other players, and slam my playbook on the bench. “I don’t know what kind of locker room crap your last coach put up with, but that’s done and over. If I hear anything like the conversation I just heard ever again, you’ll all be warming the bench come game day.” They all look at me with wide eyes, but I’m beyond enraged. I know it’s because they were talking about Megan. This kind of talk always happens when guys get together, not just in locker rooms. But I’m blinded by my anger, and I don’t care. “Everybody clear on this?”
“Yes, Coach Burns,” they say in unison.
I pick up my playbook and storm into my office, throwing it down on my desk. She’s gotten so deep under my skin that the mention of her name is all it takes to send me over the edge. That little fucker claims he gave her that mark. That mark is mine. She’s mine. I laid claim to that body first. I am the one who broke in her pussy nice and sweet. She’s only had me inside of her. Not some skinny little fucker just trying to get a nut. I’m working myself up, but I can’t stop it. I check my watch and see that her last class is done for the day. I looked up her schedule on the school computer system, memorizing it, and I know she should be nearly home. I grab my keys off my desk, having already made up my mind.
I bust out of the locker room and out on the field, and I see Coach Evans running Anderson. I give him a chin lift as I approach, and he walks over with his arms folded. “How many does he need?”
“Enough to make him remember what happened in there, but not enough that he can’t play tomorrow.”
“Fair enough.” Coach Evans turns back to the field and watches Anderson make a lap.