10. Bailey

Chapter 10

Bailey

B ailey sneaked out of AJ’s place around ten the next morning, his mind whirring. He’d slept in the same bed as his coach and, even though it had been purely platonic in intention, it had done nothing to douse the crush he had on the man.

And he did have a crush. It was impossible to deny that now.

He’d officially become the queer guy crushing on a straight man. He was a walking, talking romance trope.

The more time he spent with AJ, the stronger his feelings became. And the fact that AJ had called him when he’d reached his breaking point? That made him feel special. Privileged. He shouldn’t abuse that privilege by salivating over the hot Brit.

But, oh God, AJ’s accent was the stuff of wet dreams. And his arse in those skintight workout pants —which were, by any other name, leggings— he insisted on wearing to training was absolute perfection. His body, softening around the middle now that he wasn’t playing soccer every day, was broad in the shoulders and deliciously masculine, covered, as it was, by dark hair that peeked out from the collars of his T-shirts.

And that beard! Fuck, Bailey had jerked off to the thought of that beard rubbing over his jawline, down his waxed chest and lower still.

Sleeping next to August Jacobs had been fucking torture, but Bailey wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

The sheets had smelled of AJ’s cologne, spicy and warm, much like the man himself was when you got past his grumpy facade. The only thing that would have made the whole situation more perfect would have been cuddling up against his crush…but he knew that would never happen.

Besides being straight, AJ was still his coach. There had to be rules about coaches having any kind of romantic or sexual relationships with their players, right? Bailey had never had a reason to wonder if there was, but surely something about the power imbalance suggested that it might be a very bad idea. Not to mention the possibility of favouritism or bad calls during training or a game…

He sighed as he stepped into his own cramped, dated shower in his little beachfront apartment in Miami and closed his eyes.

It wouldn’t ever happen, but he could still fantasise, couldn’t he?

But that was dangerous. Because fantasising about AJ’s lips on his, on how his tongue might taste, on what his fingers might feel like dancing over his skin and teasing at his hole…

Well. That just made him crush harder.

Still, Bailey couldn’t stop himself. After lathering himself up with bodywash that smelled like coconut, he gripped his hard shaft with his slippery, soaped-up hand and let his imagination wander. He thought about kissing his way over AJ’s big, furry chest and down his belly. He thought about dropping to his knees in front of the older man and nuzzling his cock through those leggings he always wore. He thought about inhaling the man’s scent —cologne, clean sweat, and something that was just AJ— before tugging the man’s pants down to get at what Bailey was sure was a perfect cock.

He groaned at just the thought of getting to lick a stripe from the man’s no doubt furry balls to the tip of his dick. Would he be uncut? Most likely.

Bailey fisted himself a little bit tighter and rougher as he imagined tonguing the head of his coach’s cock, teasing his tongue around the folded back foreskin. He’d probably taste musky and salty and perfect.

Would AJ hold himself back, or would he turn rabid and fuck into Bailey’s mouth? Bailey wanted to see him unravel. He wanted AJ to lose control and take his pleasure, tugging at Bailey’s long hair and making his eyes water while he gagged and choked at the rough treatment.

He wanted AJ to moan his name as he came. He wanted—

“Fuck!” he cried out as his orgasm barrelled through him, the fantasy in his head slipping in exchange for white hot pleasure. “Age…A… August …” he panted, resting his heated forehead on the cool tiles in front of him while the water cascading over his body washed away the evidence of his release.

Oh, he was so fucked.

“What the fuck is that?” AJ’s eyes narrowed at the long, narrow cardboard box clearly labelled ‘Fibre-Optic Christmas Tree’ which Bailey carried by the box’s inbuilt plastic handle.

At least he had stopped acting surprised when Bailey turned up on his doorstep.

Baby steps, the striker thought to himself. Outwardly, he shot his coach a cheeky grin and lifted the box a bit higher. “It’s December third, mate, and you still don’t have a tree. Figured I’d fix that for you.”

He told himself that AJ’s resulting groan was an act and that, secretly, the older man was thrilled.

“Bailey!” Ava’s voice interrupted anything critical AJ might have said as she came barrelling down the hallway and pushed her way past her dad. Her pretty blue eyes widened as they looked at the box and then she squealed and threw her arms around Bailey’s waist. “A Christmas tree! Now Santa will know where to leave my presents.” She pulled back and frowned a little, looking even more like her grumpy father when she adopted the expression of consternation. “But where will he put the puppy?”

“Puppy?” Bailey asked, while AJ simultaneously let out another groan.

This one sounded more pained than the last.

“Poppet, I already told you, Santa’s elves can’t make puppies.”

“But they’re magic ,” she insisted. “And I asked Santa really nicely.”

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t get your hopes up. Santa also knows that you’re going to school next year, and that I work a lot, so nobody will be home to look after the puppy.”

Bailey almost thought AJ had gotten through to her with that logic, but then she turned on her heel and raced off in the direction of her bedroom, calling, “I’ll ask him for a kitten instead!” over her shoulder.

AJ glared at Bailey as he dissolved into laughter. “How the fuck do I get out of getting a fucking cat?”

“I dunno,” Bailey mused, trying to wrangle his amusement, “I think a cat’s a good compromise. They’re pretty self-sufficient animals.”

AJ stepped back and began leading the way through the house, leaving Bailey to close the door behind himself. Over his shoulder, he grumbled, “You going to deal with the litter tray?”

Though he knew it was just a throwaway complaint, Bailey’s stomach did a little flip at the idea of being considered part of the family to the point of having the chore of cleaning the kitty litter. For the briefest moment, he imagined that their playful argument was a domestic one between lovers. Co-parents, even.

He couldn’t deny how appealing that thought was.

In just a handful of weeks, he had not only fallen head over heels for his surly coach, but had gotten very attached to the man’s daughter, too. Having grown up in a big family full of kids, it felt right to him. He loved the chaos that kids brought, and the innocent way they explored the world. Having often been accused of being a big kid himself, he’d always known he wanted to have kids, and here he was being taunted by the fantasy of an instant family.

“If you get her a kitten, I’ll come over and change the litter,” he found himself offering seriously.

AJ startled, giving him a look that said he thought Bailey was crazy.

Maybe he was.

Not wanting to make things weird, Bailey rolled past the awkward moment.

“Here okay?” he asked as he stopped in the corner of the living room, then clarified, “For the tree?”

Resignation etched across his handsome, bearded face, AJ grunted.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bailey chirped, setting the box down and then dropping onto the carpet to take the folded-up tree out. He clicked the three pieces of the base together, then stood up, slotting the pole which functioned as the tree’s trunk into the slot on top of the base.

“That thing is a sad excuse for a Christmas tree,” AJ observed, making no effort to assist Bailey as he began peeling back the branches and ‘fluffing’ them.

“Give it time,” Bailey told him, concentrating on his task. “It takes some effort to make it look full.”

Another grunt came from AJ’s direction. “What’s the power cable for?” His bare foot entered the periphery of Bailey’s vision, a hairy toe nudging the aforementioned cable.

Ignoring the completely inappropriate burst of arousal at the innocent flash of a part of his coach he rarely ever saw, Bailey snorted. “The tree lights up, gramps. See the fibre optic strings?” He gestured to one of the multiple thin, clear plastic lines spraying out next to the branch he was spreading. “The base sends the coloured lights—”

“I know how it works,” AJ cut him off grumpily. “Was a light-up tree really necessary?”

“The lights look pretty,” Bailey defended. “Bet you five bucks Ava goes nuts for them.”

“Ava ‘goes nuts’ over almost anything, especially if you’re involved. I’m not taking that bet.”

Another one of those surreal moments where the argument felt almost like domestic flirting stole Bailey’s breath away. He cleared his throat and forced a shrug. “So, you admit I’m right, then.”

“You’re a cocky git, aren’t you?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t find me amusing and charming.”

Snorting, AJ shook his head, but Bailey noticed that he couldn’t quite hide the upward quirk of the corners of his lips.

“Oh, you do,” he pressed teasingly, well aware that he was openly flirting but unable to stop himself. “You like me.”

“Shut up,” his coach shot back. “I tolerate you. For Ava’s sake.”

“Uh-huh.” Bailey’s grin was wide. “Sure thing, coach. I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t…”

“Daddy, I wrote Santa a new letter and—oh!” Ava rushed over to where the tree was starting to resemble a proper tree, at least in Bailey’s estimation. “It’s so tall!”

“Not as tall as me,” Bailey couldn’t help but observe.

“It’s tall enough,” AJ interrupted.

“Where are the decorations?” Ava asked, already switching gears like most five-year-olds Bailey knew.

Bailey gestured in the direction of the front door. “I left the bags in the car. I wanted to get the tree set up first. Once I’m done, you can help me carry them in.”

“Can I help set up the tree?”

He couldn’t deny her big, pleading blue eyes anything, not that he wanted to. On top of wanting to make sure that she had a good first Christmas with her dad, Bailey was determined to prove that an Aussie Christmas was every bit as enjoyable —if not more so— than a freezing European one.

“Hell yeah you can help,” he said, then squatted down to show her how to properly separate out the branches and their limbs, and then ‘fluff’ them for maximum effect. Her little fingers copied his movements with less coordination, but he still praised her efforts, declaring her a natural. “Now that you’re helping, we’ll have this tree looking perfect in no time.”