THERE ARE NO DOUCHEBAGS IN THIS STORY.
Well, there are, but they’re not who this story is about.
This story is about me—the coach’s daughter.
When I moved to Iowa to live with my dad, the university’s take-no-prisoners wrestling coach, I thought transferring would be easy as pie—living with my father would be temporary, and he’d make sure his douchebag wrestlers left me alone.
Wrong on both counts.
ASSHOLES ALWAYS COME OUT OF THE WOODWORK WHEN THE STAKES ARE HIGH.
A bet is placed, and I’m on the table. After one humiliating night and too much alcohol, I find the last nice guy on campus. And when he offers to rent me his spare bedroom, I go all in. It’s time for the nice guy to finish first.
Midnight chats and spilling my problems turn to lingering touches. Lingering touches turn to more.
And the ultimate good guy has the potential do more damage than any douchebags ever could.
She perks up. “Wait, you’ve never had a back massage?”
“Well, what the hell? How can I, in good conscience, lie here letting you rub my back when you’ve never had anyone rub yours?” She scoots over, pointing to the mattress. “Lie on your stomach, I’ll do you first.”
I wave my hands in front of me in protest. The last thing I need is her warm hands roaming my body. “No, no, you don’t have to. It’s not a big deal.”
“Are you crazy? Back massages are the best—like, better than an orgasm. You’re first, so lie down.”
“And you call me the bossy one?”
“Quit stalling and get on the bed.”
Obediently, I climb to the middle of my bed in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, legs hanging off the side. Next to me, the mattress dips, Anabelle on her knees, approaching my side.
A finger glides down my spine. “It will be easier for me to do this if I’m sitting on you. Hope that’s okay.”
“Is that the approved method?”
“No, but my arms will get tired if I have to lean over you the whole time.”
“Do whatever then, I don’t care.”
I stiffen when Anabelle swings one leg over my body, straddling my ass. Warm palms at my lower back.
“You’re so tense. Try to relax,” she coos, making it worse. “Tilt your head to the side, that’s it.”
I hear the lotion bottle snap open. Click closed. My roommate’s palms rubbing together, warming it up. “Sorry, I don’t have any actual massage oil. This will have to do.”
When her hands make contact with my back, I almost groan it feels so fucking good. Warm. Smooth. Pressure in all the right places, pushing gently into my muscles.
Slower still, caressing along my shoulders, thumbs and fingers working together to soothe the burning on my right side.
“Doesn’t this feel great?” Her soft voice cuts into the silence. “You’re loosening up. That’s good.”
I feel her leaning as her hands move up and down my spine until they stop, hovering at the base of my neck. Thumbs stroking the skin below my hairline, back and forth.
Her torso dips, hands maneuvering my arms, placing them at my sides. Palms slide up and down my biceps.
For several minutes, she rubs my arms and shoulders. Then she skims down my ribcage unhurriedly, in no rush, making little humming sounds inside her throat.
I know I’m not imagining the feather-light way her hands drift down my spine. I remain still, letting her touch me, basking in it.
Remain still when her lips kiss the tender spot of my shoulder where it meets my neck, nose nuzzling behind my ear, her breasts rubbing against my back and what the fuck was that all about? What does she think she’s doing, trying to drive me insane?
The Coaching Hours is my second book by Sara Ney and again I’m in love with it. I opened up the book and saw this:“Thank you, Internet, for providing the inspiration for the dating quotes at the beginning of each chapter. They’re all based on real conversations, pick-up lines, come-ons, and texts between actual people.” Let me tell you they are hilarious. Some had me laughing so hard while reading in bed that I had to stop reading and tell my husband what they said.
The wrestling coach has a daughter who is transferring to the college he works at and to put it mildly, he doesn’t want any of his wrestler sniffing around his daughter.
He gives the guys some guidelines:
✦I don’t want you befriending her.
✦I don’t want you offering to play tour guide.
✦I don’t want you dating her.
✦Be civil. Be gentlemen.
✦ Leave her alone. Are we clear?
Sounds easy enough but for a bunch of douchebags that can be challenging. Two douchebags, in particular, have a hard time following these rules.
Luckily, the hero isn’t a douchebag. He’s so focused on graduating and the future he’s unsure about taking a risk with a girl who isn’t graduating now. I really loved the hero even though there were moments where I felt like Sebastian the Crab from Little Mermaid, “Kiss the girl.”
The whole premise of this story was fun . . . the big bad scary wrestling coach has a college-age daughter that decides to attend where her father coaches. She grew up across the country with her mother (who divorced her father when she was young). And then we have our hero who was formerly the roommate with a couple wrestling douchebags. He’s popular by association and has a good handle on dealing with douchebags.
An angry coach/dad, his college daughter, a couple douchebags from the wrestling team, and the nice guy . . . throw them on the college campus and we’ve got the making for an entertaining story.
THE COACHING HOURS is the fourth book in the How to Date Douchebag series. It can be read as a standalone. Lovers of a nice guy falling for the off-limits girl will enjoy this college sports romance. Once the reader starts they won’t want to put the book down. GREAT STORY!
RELEASE DATE: February 5, 2018
Pre-order | order: http://amzn.to/2nmdd88
**Complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.**
Sara Ney is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the How to Date a Douchebag series, and is best known for her sexy, laugh-out-loud New Adult romances. Among her favorite vices, she includes: iced latte’s, historical architecture and well-placed sarcasm. She lives colorfully, collects vintage books, art, loves flea markets, and fancies herself British.
She lives with her husband, children, and her ridiculously large dog.