Forty Pushups

CHAPTER 5

Forty Pushups

•••LIAM•••

"Okay, you want to hang out sometime?"

"No, how many times do I have to say that? You need a restraining order to leave me the heck alone. Stay away from me, Westbrook," she said.

Turning around, she walked towards the building, her bubble butt bouncing in her black pleated skirt and blue sweater ensemble as she climbed up the stairs.

To be honest, this third rejection stung. I was Liam fucking Westbrook, for fucksake. Even female professors have tried to suck my dick.

On the bright side, I didn't mind the view one bit. As I stood there, still watching an ass I couldn't wait to spank while my cock drilled that juicy clit until it was dripping with my cum.

Ah, what a mental picture. I had to quickly kick those wild thoughts away. Practice was in two minutes, and I was bloody late.

Coach Nick chewed my ass a new one when I entered our training center. "You are late, Westbrook!" he barked.

"Sorry, Coach. Won't happen again," I called back, sprinting down the field.

"Not acceptable. Today I woke up with zero tolerance for bullshit excuses. West, get your ass over here and give me forty. Don't you dare stop until I say forty." I heard some offensive tackles watching us snicker.

I dropped to the ground, Coach watching me as I counted each push up. "One.. two..ten.. twenty five.. thirty.. thirty nine.. forty, all done, Coach."

"Get your ass up and join the others. Do this shit one more time, and it's 300 burpees, West. I ain't playing, you are supposed to be setting an example for the fucking team," Coach said with a stern face.

"Thank you, Coach, it's not going to repeat itself," I yelled, jogging towards my teammates.

The remaining hours of practice were tough, Coach pushing each of us to our limits with drills that left everyone soaked in sweat. He called the guys around him as practice ended.

"Great work today, guys. Let's keep that energy up. Westbrook, I want to see you in my office after practice." I nodded, hoping it wasn't about my lateness earlier.

Coach was like a father to many of us, a former captain whose promising career was cut short by a hamstring injury. For the past fourteen years, he had led the Buckeyes to never before seen success.

Reaching the door, I knocked twice before stepping into the office full of the team's accomplishments.

Nine College Football Playoff (CFP) titles, eleven conference championships, and thirteen division titles decorated the walls. Each trophy and plaque is a testament to the team's hard work and dedication.

Coach, raising a finger, signalled me to hold on a minute as he finished a call. My eyes strayed to the wooden framed picture on the desk of Coach's wife and two kids smiling in a Christmas photo.

I had grown up idolizing Coach, who had become both a mentor and a second dad. This office has groomed Malik Hooker, Nick Bosa, Justin Skyler, Johnathan Hankins, and so on.

This was a place where dreams were made. Finally, he hung up the phone and gestured to the chair.

"Liam, I wanted to talk to you about your performance today. You seemed distracted." Coach leaned forward, eyes studying me. "What is it, son?"

"Nothing, Coach. Just some tough classes," I lied.

"I can assign you the best tutor from the tutoring program."

"You don't have to do that. I have drawn up a study plan to improve my grades. If that doesn't work, then we will talk about the program," I replied.

"Alright. Just know I believe in you. You have the potential to make it big in the league. Don't waste this opportunity."

"Son, before this slips my mind again," Coach continued.