Book III of UNC Series
While it's known that there are five stages of grief, did you know that there are also five stages of love?
Bailey Nicholson dreamed of finishing her Master's degree and settling in Boston while working alongside her boyfriend...
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I've never understood yoga. I can't grasp how some could remain calm for an extended period or how their minds could quiet long enough to meditate or even fall asleep.
How is it supposed to make some more fluid and flexible?
Even after an hour, my rigid shoulders crack as I stretch my arms above my head, and my legs jerk when balancing on one foot. And we all drop when one person falls over, like a domino effect. I let out a frustrated groan when I land on my ass. The few people who managed to stay on their feet snicker, their amused smiles hidden behind their palms.
I groan, clapping and wiping my hands as I sit up. I reach to clasp my calf to stretch my leg when I hear a familiar snicker from across the floor. I direct my glare over to where Blondie meets my eye and does nothing to hide the amusement on her face.
I'm going to kill whoever invented yoga. Actually, I rather hurt the person more accessible, and in this case, Coach. He insisted on yoga instead of a weight room workout to help with our mobility on the field. According to him, we were too stiff and rigid in the last game, which resulted in many fumbles and a few sacks.
It was our first loss of the season, and it didn't sit well with him.
Whether this practice was to help with our flexibility or punish us for the loss, I don't know, and I don't care to find out—I'm still going to hurt him.
However, I don't have to wait too long to concoct a plan for that. Still reeling from his lack of respect for me, I called Ethan Collins again, asking him for advice, and he assured me that he'll help. He's been through something similar, and I figured he could offer some insight into how to manage the situation.
I'm just surprised Coach had dared to pull this stunt again after failing so miserably with Collins.
Another rumble of chuckles and snickers reach my ears as I stand up, dusting off my shorts. My bare chest glistens with sweat as I feel too uncomfortable in my own skin. I turn towards Blondie again with a pointed glower when I recognize her muffled snort but stop short when I find her bent over with her ass high in the air.
My lungs empty as I imagine what it would feel like to sink deep within her while she holds that position. Gripping the flesh of her ass in my palms, driving into her while she moaned beneath me. I'd trace the ridges of her spine as I stroked my cock along her slick walls and feathered my fingers along her pimpled skin. I close my eyes, savouring the sensation.
I don't have to wonder what she may feel like since I can still feel the phantom grip of her pussy around my cock. Though it's been a few days, I still yearn to sink back into her.
"Parker," Coach's voice startles me as he screams my name across the gym.
Glancing around, I notice that I'm the only one still standing while everyone else is bent over in a downward dog position. And most, if not all, with the exception of Blondie, are aware that my eyes were glued to her ass. But can they really blame me when her ass looks phenomenal, especially when the image of it painted red with my handprint is still engraved in my mind?
