THERE ARE NO DOUCHEBAGS IN THIS STORY.
Well, there are, but they’re not who this story is about.
This story is about me-the coach’s daughter.
When I moved to Iowa to live with my dad, the university’s take-no-prisoners wrestling coach, I thought transferring would be easy as pie-living with my father would be temporary, and he’d make sure his douchebag wrestlers left me alone.
Wrong on both counts.
ASSHOLES ALWAYS COME OUT OF THE WOODWORK WHEN THE STAKES ARE HIGH.
A bet is placed, and I’m on the table. After one humiliating night and too much alcohol, I find the last nice guy on campus. And when he offers to rent me his spare bedroom, I go all in. It’s time for the nice guy to finish first.
Midnight chats and spilling my problems turn to lingering touches. Lingering touches turn to more.
And the ultimate good guy has the potential do more damage than any douchebags ever could.
Douchebags and jockholes…all colleges have them and they’re notorious for their arrogant personalities, sexual promiscuity and need to one up their friends with stupid bets and the number of notches on their bedpost.
But not all athletes are douchecanoes, and while these ‘good’ guys seem to be far and few between in New Adult Sports Romances, Sara Ney’s Jock Row actually has more than just reformed asshats, and this time around, readers get to see a nice guy get everything he wants. Now, don’t get me wrong, the hero in Ney’s Coaching Hours isn’t perfect; in fact, he makes some stupid decisions and allows his life to spin out of control because he’s always had a path to follow and veering off that course is not something he’s ever considered, but a certain Coach’s daughter changes his priorities and while there were definitely times I wanted to throttle him…put him in the douchebag category, understanding his perspective and the circumstances forced me to not want to punch him in his junk!
Sara Ney’s newest hero and heroine’s relationship evolves smoothly as the story continues; they move from strangers to roommates to friends to lovers and as the feelings between them intensify, things get a bit dicey due to ‘Library Guy’s’ singular focus on his education and career, but while that forces some distance between them, it doesn’t negate the connection they share.
The old adage of ‘nice guys finish last’ is put to the test in Sara Ney’s newest Douchebag release, The Coaching Hours, and I can unequivocally say that in the case of ‘Library Guy,’ he has the personality, looks, and attitude to come out on top, once he’s willing to widen his life goals and gains the much needed perspective on how much love should factor into his choices.
I do have to admit that a certain supporting character makes amends for his douchebaggery in the Coaching Hours and while he’s not necessarily off the hook for some of his antics and inappropriate behavior, he comes through when he really needs to, which makes him alright in my eyes.
I’ve enjoyed the hell out of Ney’s Douchebag series, and while I’m sad to say goodbye, I can’t wait to see where Ney takes romance readers next!
4 Poison Apples
She perks up. “Wait, you’ve never had a back massage?”
“Well, what the hell? How can I, in good conscience, lie here letting you rub my back when you’ve never had anyone rub yours?” She scoots over, pointing to the mattress. “Lie on your stomach, I’ll do you first.”
I wave my hands in front of me in protest. The last thing I need is her warm hands roaming my body. “No, no, you don’t have to. It’s not a big deal.”
“Are you crazy? Back massages are the best-like, better than an orgasm. You’re first, so lie down.”
“And you call me the bossy one?”
“Quit stalling and get on the bed.”
Obediently, I climb to the middle of my bed in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, legs hanging off the side. Next to me, the mattress dips, Anabelle on her knees, approaching my side.
A finger glides down my spine. “It will be easier for me to do this if I’m sitting on you. Hope that’s okay.”
“Is that the approved method?”
“No, but my arms will get tired if I have to lean over you the whole time.”
“Do whatever then, I don’t care.”
I stiffen when Anabelle swings one leg over my body, straddling my ass. Warm palms at my lower back.
“You’re so tense. Try to relax,” she coos, making it worse. “Tilt your head to the side, that’s it.”
I hear the lotion bottle snap open. Click closed. My roommate’s palms rubbing together, warming it up. “Sorry, I don’t have any actual massage oil. This will have to do.”
When her hands make contact with my back, I almost groan it feels so fucking good. Warm. Smooth. Pressure in all the right places, pushing gently into my muscles.
Slower still, caressing along my shoulders, thumbs and fingers working together to soothe the burning on my right side.
“Doesn’t this feel great?” Her soft voice cuts into the silence. “You’re loosening up. That’s good.”
I feel her leaning as her hands move up and down my spine until they stop, hovering at the base of my neck. Thumbs stroking the skin below my hairline, back and forth.
Her torso dips, hands maneuvering my arms, placing them at my sides. Palms slide up and down my biceps.
For several minutes, she rubs my arms and shoulders. Then she skims down my ribcage unhurriedly, in no rush, making little humming sounds inside her throat.
I know I’m not imagining the feather-light way her hands drift down my spine. I remain still, letting her touch me, basking in it.
Remain still when her lips kiss the tender spot of my shoulder where it meets my neck, nose nuzzling behind my ear, her breasts rubbing against my back and what the fuck was that all about? What does she think she’s doing, trying to drive me insane?
Sara Ney is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the How to Date a Douchebag series, and is best known for her sexy, laugh-out-loud New Adult romances. Among her favorite vices, she includes: iced latte’s, historical architecture and well-placed sarcasm. She lives colorfully, collects vintage books, art, loves flea markets, and fancies herself British.
She lives with her husband, children, and her ridiculously large dog.