Claire confronts Blake about not calling her first.

“Inside of every person,” Carl said, “is a coach.” Claire remembered the entire speech clearly. Her, stuck in a room full of middle aged men reprimanded for sexual harassment and teenagers who told their bosses off. Or at least, she assumed that’s why everyone else was stuck in a gray corporate office that smelled like stale popcorn and paint.

In her first three months on the job, she had broken the store’s sales record twice and already been sent to sensitivity training for her attitude. Now, she got to listen to a forty-year-old man wearing an expensive suit and a cheap spray tan turn customer service into one giant football wank-fest.

“He may not be a coach. He might be Keanu Reeves from The Replacements, or the groundskeeper from Rudy– he doesn’t have to be the coach. But he’s the voice that tells you the right thing to do. Not the thing you want to do– but the _right _thing to do.”

And he was right– everyone had that voice. Or at least Claire had that voice. The one that told her not to throw open the door and start screaming at Blake. The one that told her there was a good explanation as to why he didn’t tell her he was going to be in town. The one that said the picture was innocent fun.

He was right– but she still hadn’t learned to listen to that voice when Ian opened the door and said, “Hey, Claire, wha’s–”

“Fuck you. Fuck you and your little fucking whore house you’re running here. Where’s Blake?” Ian stepped back like he had been slapped, but Drew just laughed as he poured vodka into his cup. As he turned to glare at Drew, Ian’s face turned red with anger. No one embarrassed him– he didn’t care if she was Blake’s girl or not.

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is–”

“My fucking problem?” Instead of backing down, Claire stepped into Ian, throwing him off-balance. She may have had a few inches on him, but he still could have snapped her in half. He had the strength and the temper to do it. On a normal day, Claire was afraid of him, but this was not a normal day, and she couldn’t stop herself.

“My fucking problem is you’ve got a house full of skanks who fucking dream of cocks to suck while you can’t get it up– and now my man is here and they’re all over him like white on rice. Now get the fuck out of my way before–”

After almost falling into the couch, Ian stood up ready to bitchslap the girl when a hand came down on his shoulder, gentle but firm.

“I’ve got this, Ian.”

Ian spun around, his eyes bulging out of his head with rage. “Man, you fucking better get this because I’m not–”

Blake nodded, “I know.”

“– fucking cool with this.” Drew was still laughing in the kitchen, while the party was slowly moving towards them to see what was going on. “And don’t fucking ‘you know’ me, college boy. We used to be tight. I did you a solid today.

“And this?” Ian pointed at Claire. “This is what I get? This is what I fucking get?”

Blake squeezed Ian’s shoulder. “Look, I said I’ve got this.”

At 6'3", he had almost six inches on Ian, and football kept him in shape in a way that others could only envy. There was no anger in his voice, no threat of ****, but there didn’t have to be. They both knew how it was going to turn out. But Claire–

“I don’t know what you think you’ve fucking got, but let me tell you–” In her head, she could see her coach waving his arms trying to flag her down, but she didn’t care. It didn’t matter that Blake was fully dressed– that everyone was dressed. It didn’t matter that the party looked kind of lame, with just a dozen or so people sitting around watching tv and drinking.

It didn’t matter that Blake was right there in front of her, sexy and calm as always. His hair had grown out from his summer buzz, and the short black hair was starting to curl; the same black hair was threatening to turn from stubble into a beard, softening his strong jaw and making him look older, more mature. In his plaid shirt and jeans, he looked like a lumberjack coming home from work, muscles rippling from all of that swinging and chopping and–

It didn’t matter, Claire told herself. She didn’t want to hear her inner coach. She wanted to blame Blake for something, even if she didn’t know what.

“And what are you going to tell me?” Claire stared into his eyes as he took her in, a look somewhere between amused and annoyed as he gauged her response.

Claire started to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. He hadn’t done anything wrong. No one had. Not even Ian– except for being a stupid, ugly asshole who wouldn’t leering at her when he saw her.

The longer Blake looked into her eyes, the further away her rage was. She wasn’t sure why she had been so angry. It wasn’t just his physical strength or his intoxicating scent. It was more than that. Looking into his grey eyes, she felt a confidence and honest that she lacked. She knew, as she always did, that he was only thinking of her, that she could trust him, whatever happened, and that– whatever stress she was under– he could handle it.

The room was tense: the party was watching to see what Blake did next. Ian stood impishly beside them, silently wishing he could egg Blake on to ****. After watching her calm down, Blake shook his head and smiled the lopsided, confident grin she loved.

“Well, now is not the time for I missed you, but it’s true.”

Claire laughed, nervous for the first time since she saw his face on her Instagram today.

“You know you can’t act that way, Claire.”

“Yes sir. I know.” Listening to his hypnotic voice, Claire felt the tension building within her as well, but a good kind of tension, fear mixed with anticipation. The people didn’t exist in this moment– Ian, Drew, Ashleigh, Sarah, all of the other people standing around– it was like they didn’t exist.

“What do you think you need?” Blake asked, starting a script she knew well.

“A reminder, sir.”

Blake watched her. At first, Claire couldn’t tell what he was waiting for, but then she realized she had broken protocol.

“I need a reminder, sir.”

Blake nodded, “Of what?”

“Of how I should use my mouth with you, sir.”

As Claire waited for Blake to answer, people started talking around the room. Ashleigh was deep in a story about the camping trip. Sarah talked with Ryan about how to give head the right way. A raven-haired girl stood talking with her friends about lesbianism. Claire didn’t hear any of their conversations. She was focused on the script, on Blake.

“And how should you use your mouth?”

“Like this,” Claire said, and with that she fell to her knees, took his pants zipper in his hand, and pulled it down. In a mixture of gasps and nervous laughs, the party began to move around the two of them. Ian did not want to back off at first, but after a couple of people tapped him on the shoulder– Ryan, Drew, Ashleigh– he backed up to join the circle that was surrounding Blake and Claire.

Claire reached into Blake’s jeans to part his boxers, letting his cock flop out from within. When he was hard, it was a thick nine inch weapon, but when she first put her hand on it, his cock was nothing more than a shriveled up flap of spare skin.

Claire kissed it, gently at first, her left hand reaching in through his zipper to rub his balls. Without being asked, she looked up to Blake, meeting his eyes, then with his nod began to lick the underside of his cock.

“Now what do you need to say?” Blake asked, unfazed while her tongur rapped around his mushroom head. He looked down at her, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry for criticizing you,” Claire said at a whisper. Everyone seemed to lean in just to hear what she said.

“I don’t think that’s what they said,” Blake said, egging her on.

Without another word, Claire took Blake as deep as she could in her mouth. She felt him hit the roof of her mouth, then adjusted him to slide back even further, forcing his cock into her throat as she worked.

“Mmm srry–” she muttered, repeating herself but this time, without letting him out of her mouth. A group of girls laughed at her muttering, making her blush hard. “– frr critszzzing ew, thir.”

Still, it was working on some of them. Jordan and a bottle-blonde girl began making out on the couch, hands moving quickly over every detail of each other. Sarah was touching herself, a hand at the hem of her dress, another gently stroking her neck, as if she wanted someone to **** her.

Slowly working her way deeper down his shaft, feeling it expand in her mouth, Claire remembered something she had read on the internet. Gagging during a blowjob is a romantic sound. Think about it. Someone is choosing your dick over the oxygen they need to survive.

Not everyone was moved by the show, though. Ashleigh watched with a sour sneer as Blake remained out of her reach. She had confessed at the bar that she wanted to fuck Blake more than anyone else she had known– in high school or after– but he wasn’t having it.

On the other side of the circle, Ian was still licking his wounds, his eyes burning a hole in the back of Claire’s head as she bobbed up and down.

“And what should you do with your mouth,” Blake asked.

“Plrr you,” Claire said, **** for the first time as she tried to talk while going deep.

“What’s the matter, bitch, got a cock in your mouth?” Ryan jeered. Drew laughed, but Ian was still seething with rage.

Without warning, Ian stood up and moved next to Claire. Blake tried to stare him down, but Ian was too angry to back off now. Instead, looking right at Blake, he unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock.

“That dick’s not the only one you need to apologize to, bitch.”

Claire froze, looking at Blake, then Ian, then back at Blake. Was this really happening? What was she supposed to do?