The Golden Boy

Trudging inside, the three teens all sheepishly apologized to the lovely creature who stood off to the side. Closing the door behind them, the alabaster-skinned woman crossed her arms under her chest, further showcasing her borderline large breasts.

"Sorry, holiday traffic was heavier than I expected," Brandon said as he kept his eyes directed over her shoulder as he took off his coat.

"Sorry, Mrs. Thorne," Max mumbled as he went the opposite route, staring intently at his shoes as he unlaced them.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Trent?" the woman asked as he kept on walking down the hall.

"Sorry, ma'am," Trent responded, returning to where his friends stood in the tiny foyer.

"Ma'am? Come on! I'm only a decade older than you, Trent."

"Sorry, Mrs. Thorne. I was raised to be polite to a lady," Trent said, putting on his politeness hat. His two friends made eye contact and rolled their eyes.

"I think as seniors who've finished playing for my husband, you guys are allowed to call me by my first name from now on. That sound good?" the dark-haired woman asked.

"Sure thing, Ivory," Trent immediately responded, winking at her.

"Of course," Brandon added.

"Um, okay, Coach Ivory, I mean Mrs...Ivory," Max stammered.

"Coach Ivory. I kinda like that, Max," Ivory Thorne smiled, patting his cheek before heading down the short hallway. "Still, you boys were late. I'll have to consider punishing you. You might not get dessert for today."

Trent groaned at the punishment. The coach's wife always stopped at the bakery on Sunday mornings before gameday. Brandon's empty stomach perfectly timed its rumbling, causing Ivory to drop one of her delightfully sexy giggles.

"Your friends are in the living room, and you know the way."

The three teens definitely knew the way. Coach Thorne's bungalow was pretty small. Left of the tiny entryway stood the lone bathroom, and across from that was the largest bedroom that faced out onto the street. There was a second, much smaller bedroom next to the master. Further down the hall on the left lay a compact kitchen and a cozy dining room. A sliding door at the back of the dining area led to a deck. Usually, in the late summer and early fall, Coach Thorne held cookouts for larger groups of players. Finishing off the main floor of the single-story home was the living room located in the back right corner. Just past the doorway to the second bedroom in the hallway was a flight of stairs leading down to the basement.

Cutting past the teens, their hostess started down the hall but shifted toward the smaller bedroom. All three pairs of eyes had automatically altered to stare at the sway of her phenomenal ass. With her long, pitch-black hair, green eyes, C-cup breasts, firm ass, and athletically toned body, Ivory Thorne was a flawless goddess to most of the horny teenagers on her husband's football team. And it wasn't merely her body that endeared her to the players. No, Ivory had a kind, friendly, and playful attitude. Considering how gruff her husband could be, people often wondered how Rex Thorne managed to score the lovely lady.

At the moment, the pure sexiness of her figure was prominently displayed by her pastel pink sports bra and yoga pants. As the three teens watched that ass moved down the hall, they each had different reactions. Trent licked his lips at the possibilities. Brandon wished that Ashley would take up yoga. And for the countless time, Max couldn't help but notice some of the similarities between Ivory and Heather.

"What are you up to?" Trent questioned, his head turning to look into the small bedroom. His attention on the mat spread out.

"I need to finish up my yoga routine," Ivory explained.

"Do you think I should try yoga? Maybe I can watch and see if it's for me," Trent inquired.

"Nice try, Trent. I don't need any spectators," Ivory laughed. Then with a shushing motion, she went to close the door in his face. "Go hang out with your friends."

In disappointment, the dark-skinned teen swung his arm through the air as his two friends chuckled. Brandon slapped him on the back and turned him away from the door.

"Maybe try being a little less creepy next time," Max softly told him.

"And maybe you can grow balls as big as me...in your dreams."

"You should probably see a doctor about them. Balls that big can't be healthy," Brandon cracked to Trent as they came around the corner into the living room.

"Thornton telling tales again?"

Two teens sat in the living room watching a pre-game show. The exceptionally large one seated on the loveseat waved a greeting as he stuffed his mouth full of snacks. The much skinnier one who spoke up, sat in an armchair, discreetly sipping from a bottle of beer.

"Damn, Glove, you sneaking one of Thorne's beers?" Trent questioned in awe.

"Why not? It's not like he's gonna notice," Xavier Glove smirked. A fellow eighteen-year-old, the dark-skinned teen had short black hair, brown eyes, and a slim but sturdy build. The captain of the defense, Xavier, could be considered the best athlete of the senior class. Colleges indeed viewed him that way much to Brandon's chagrin. While he played safety at Coach Thorne's request, Glove had the size and speed that college coaches drooled over for their cornerbacks. By all accounts, he would switch over to that position starting next year at Breakwater University. Xavier and Brandon had a natural rivalry as the captains of their respective sides of the team.

"It looks someone has bigger balls than you," Max told Trent.

"Wait and see, wait and see. My balls got a long-term plan," he responded.

"This sounds like another of Thornton's tall tales about the women he's going to fuck," Xavier chuckled dismissively.

"Didn't you see Ivory?" Trent gestured over his shoulder.

"Sure, it's yoga day," Xavier replied.

"I love yoga day," the other teen remarked.

"We all do, Kona, we all do."

Everyone nodded at Trent's statement.

"Yo, wanna seat?" Kona Sango asked, patting the little room that his large frame left on the loveseat. Also eighteen, their teammate had a mop of brown hair, brown eyes, tanned skin, and a figure best described as athletically fat. While he looked his Hawaiian heritage and his family name was Japanese, Kona insisted that he was a mutt. He had ancestors from Samoa, France, Ireland, and Nigeria. He loved to tell people that "My family traveled far to find the best lovers." The line-clogging nose tackle of the defense, Kona had to be one of the most well-liked students at Azure Rocks High. A friendly, kind-hearted guy off the field, he turned into a fierce monster between the white lines.

Seeing that Brandon had already moved to take the remaining smaller chair, Max squeezed himself next to Kona. Shrugging his shoulders, Trent gave out a round of fist bumps before grabbing a handful of potato chips. Standing around, he peered back into the kitchen to see what dessert he might not get.

"Kind of a light showing from the defense today," Brandon commented. "Where is everyone?"

"Ah, man! You won't believe what Kessler texted me," Xavier chuckled, throwing his hand out in front of him. "Winkie got into an accident on the way over here."

"Another accident?" Trent questioned, choking on a chip.

"Another one!"

"Well, it sounded like just a fender bender," Kona clarified. "But his dad is pissed."

"Rightfully so, I would say," Brandon remarked, shaking his head. "Damn, and I thought Trent sucked as a driver."

"Hey! I never had an accident. Maybe missed a few barely."

"You know, that's probably that accident we saw on the way here," Max pointed out. "It didn't look bad, but it backed up traffic."

The five teens sat around and joked over their experiences driving with both Trent and Winkie, the team's kicker and punter. Trent continued to protest that he drove fine. He tried to blame the cops, but Xavier pointed out that he never had any problems from the police when driving.

"That's because your dad is a cop," Trent pointed out the undeniable fact in exasperation. Seeking to change the subject, he brought up the Corvette parked in the driveway.

"Who's orange compensation for a small dick is out front?"

"Joffrey," Kona responded, showing rare distaste for another person.

"Joffrey?" Max asked in surprise.

"Wait, who's Joffrey?" Brandon questioned. Trent shrugged as he didn't know either.

"Shitbird," Xavier clarified.

"Shitbird?!" Brandon repeated in shock, knowing that person.

"They never watched Game of Thrones," Max informed Kona. "Trent nearly pissed his pants when he saw the size of the third book when I read it."

"Shitbird's here?" Brandon continued to question.

"Yep, he's downstairs with Thorne," Xavier revealed.

"No fucking way."

Noticing the agitated way that Brandon stood up and marched out of the room, Max figured it would be best to follow. Getting up, he glanced over at Trent.

"You coming too?"

"Nah, I'm good up here. Season's over. I don't need to kiss his ass any longer."

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Brandon watched as Rex Thorne sat on the couch with the young quarterback. They were studying game film as the coach pointed out tips over the defensive schemes they saw during their state playoff run. A sense of déjá vu overwhelmed Brandon as a vivid memory took over his brain.

"You see that, Brandon?" Coach Thorne pointed out to Brandon two years ago. "RJ failed again to notice the linebacker slipping into coverage. You have to always anticipate that when the defense gives you this look. It's a fakeout that Coach Gorman of Black Well loves his defense to use when they are in a 3-4 scheme."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't get me wrong, RJ Ridge was a fine quarterback and leader," Coach Thorne told the sixteen-year-old. "I know he took you under his wing, but his gunslinger mentality cost us too many games. I can't have you play like that. You need to be more disciplined."

"I'll be safe with the ball, Coach," young Brandon eagerly promised. He wanted more than anything to please his coach. He couldn't believe that Coach Thorne planned to give him every opportunity to be the starter next season. Everyone around the team expected Mason Nevin, the junior backup QB, to be the following year's starter. His cousin, Owen, had been the highly respected quarterback before RJ Ridge. But Thorne had concerns that his style was too similar to his cousin's.

"Not too safe. There's a fine line between smart and gun-shy," Thorne explained. "RJ watched Owen play it too safe in the playoffs. I'll admit, as a rookie head coach, I didn't push him enough. I need a leader who can run my offense the proper way. Can you be that quarterback?"

"Yes, sir. I'll play whatever way it takes to win state. That's been my dream forever," Brandon vowed.

"It's a good one to have. Winning two state championships made my dreams come true in high school. Too bad this damn shoulder gave out in college," the older man remarked, rotating his right shoulder with a grimace. "I know next August seems a long time away, but you need to start putting in the work now. I think we're going to make history with your class, Brandon. The sophomores really pushed the upperclassmen this season on defense. And with Parker around one more season, we'll have the best wide receiver in the state. I only hope we can find more playmakers on offense."

"Uh, my friend, Max, has great hands, sir. He's been my go-to guy since pewee football," Brandon hesitantly offered.

"Max?"

"Moxey, sir. He's on the JV squad."

"Oh, yes. I don't know, he's fairly slow," Thorne said, dismissively. "Your friends with Thornton, right? Your first test as a leader is convincing him to hold onto the damn ball. He's got talent, but fumbles kill us. I'm thinking of moving him to tight end."

"I'll do that, sir."

"And keep your grades up. Your math teacher said you're in danger of falling behind."

"I'm trying—"

"Hey, you alright?" Max asked, snapping his friend from his daydream.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine," Brandon replied as his mind came back to the present. Where he once sat learning from his mentor, now sat Dawson Fox. A spoiled, arrogant know-it-all, Dawson rubbed Brandon wrong in every way. The sophomore oozed self-entitlement. Sure, Fox had talent. There was no doubt about it, but he'd never played even one snap in a varsity game.

"—Cole was a fine pocket passer. But I'm stoked to have a quarterback next year who can be a dual-threat. With your arm strength and quick feet, opposing defenses won't know what to plan for. It's a damn shame you broke your wrist during training camp. I would've loved to run some wildcat plays with you this season."

Listening to Coach Thorne basically repeat his conversation from two years ago with his newest golden boy, left a bad taste in Brandon's mouth. Noticing both the conversation and the frown on his close friend's face, Max cleared his throat.

"Oh, I need you guys to give us a few more minutes. I'm showing Dawson tips for next season," Coach Thorne responded without even a glance over at his two former players.

"What's up?" Dawson greeted them with a head nod and a smirk.

The little brat knows exactly what's happening here. Max thought, feeling bad for his friend. I know Brandon thinks he's still quarterback until we graduate, but Thorne's already moved on.

"Let's head back upstairs, Bran," Max said, tugging his friend's arm.

"I need a quarterback that doesn't look to the sideline for every detail. Creativity on the field is key next season," Coach Thorne continued.

Looks to the sideline?! I did everything you asked of me! I played your game, not mine, and that's why I'm still begging good college programs for a chance. With a hurt look back into the basement, Brandon nodded and followed.