The Coach’s MILF

The Coach’s MILF, by Brandie Buckwine

Ten years have passed since Holly has had a man. This single mom chose her son and his safety over her love life long ago, but that’s about to change.

Holly is tired of sleepless nights and wet dreams. After a ridiculously long drought, she decides it’s time to get back in the game. Her fear that she no longer knows how to play is quickly put to rest by her son’s gorgeous coach, who is also looking for that something special. Can they both find what they crave, or will Holly’s son keep his mom under his thumb?

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Excerpt:

After the team’s eighth consecutive win, which qualified them for State, I waited outside the school for my son, holding my blanket, and broken rose. Laura again. Before any of the students came out, Mr. Flack, the offensive coordinator walked through the door, one of the ones who laughed openly at my cheese-covered derriere.

“Mrs. Andrews,” he approached, smiling. Jake once told me that Mr. Flack played college ball for Nebraska, and his firm, muscular build made it easy to believe. He checked me out, from head to toes, and the inspection left me tingling. Too bad he’s so young.

“I wanted to talk to you about Jake. Do you have a minute?”

I shrugged off my ‘horny old lady’ guise and returned to the ‘Jake’s mom’ persona. “Yes, I do. I’m just waiting to see if Jake’s coming with me or going with his friends.”

Mr. Flack took me by the elbow and guided me away from the door. His light touch sent a message of need to my core, which promptly answered with moisture.

“What are Jake’s plans for college, Mrs. Andrews?”

“You can call me Holly.” It came out before I could stop it. “He hasn’t really settled on anything. Why do you ask?” His eyes, the color of dark chocolate, perfectly matched his curly hair. I cocked my head to the side and looked deeper. Flecks of gold surrounded his pupils, a strange contrast to the dark pools that contained them.

“Is everything okay, Mrs. An—” he caught himself, “um, Holly?”

“Hmm?” It took a moment for his question to sink in. “Everything is fine. You have beautiful eyes, Mr. Flack.” We both blushed, he at the compliment, and me at my inappropriateness.

“Cory,” he said.

“Cory what?” I asked, trying to pull myself from my embarrassing trance.

“Cory Flack.”

My stare relaxed enough to see that he was looking back at me with concern. Now, I was completely flustered. “Sorry,” I said, giving my head a shake for some clarity. “Not sure where I wandered off to.”

He chuckled, but continued. “Well, I think, if Jake can bring his grades up a bit, he could get some decent scholarship offers for college. He’s a good player. Did you know that he broke the school’s record for rushing yards tonight?”

“Yeah, they announced it.” I said, my mind returning to that moment and my face flushing again, this time with pride. “That would be great. He’s got a small college fund, but it won’t get him very far.”

“A few of the college scouts asked about him this year. They were obviously impressed, but if Jake wants their attention his senior year, he needs to bring his GPA up.” Two boys walked out the door, still wet from their showers. Cory waited until they passed. “Maybe we could discuss his prospects over dinner?”

My mind reeled. Had this young buck just asked me out, or were his motives strictly about helping his student? “Or I could just come to your office after school,” I suggested.

“You don’t want to go out to dinner?” He confirmed that I wasn’t jumping to conclusions.

“Cory— Mr. Flack, I’m old enough to be,” I stopped. I wasn’t anywhere near old enough to be his mother, but I was definitely older than he was. “Your older sister,” I finished, fully aware that my argument wasn’t a strong one. Even though the man had me imagining myself bent over his desk while he pummeled me from behind, my intentions were never to become the town cougar.

“Um, Holly?” He was perplexed. “How old do you think I am?”

I didn’t have his age pinpointed, but I figured him to be in his mid to late thirties. “I don’t know. Not as old as I am, that’s for sure.”
A few more boys exited the locker room, and we waited for them to pass out of earshot. “You must think you’re ancient. I’m forty-one, not that it really matters, and it’s just dinner.”

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