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.

 

AMAZON | AMAZON UK | AMAZON AU

 

 

 

She perks up. “Wait, you’ve never had a back massage?”

 

“No?”

 

“Ever?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“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.

 

Slowly.

 

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.

 

Kneading.

 

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?

 

 

 

I am sure that I am one of the very few who have not read this series at all. Don’t ask me why, I just never did. And I’ve now read the last one in the series and I have to say, I don’t think I should have started with this one. LOL But let me explain before I have a million trolls bearing down on me.

The Coaching Hours is apparently much sweeter and more subdued than the other books in this series. Don’t get me wrong, there are some pretty major douche canoes in this book, but they are not the main characters and their d-bag ways were a subplot to the whole thing. And for me, that was sort of a letdown since I had been expecting something more angsty.

Anyway, I still did enjoy this book. I found myself laughing a lot and enjoying the banter and connections with Elliot and Anabelle. Sara wrote very mature characters in Elliot and Anabelle, which added a lot more to this story line. I love that Ana still had her insecurities, but did not whine about shit – she acted like a mature junior college student. That’s one thing I truly enjoyed the most – the maturity and how everything was handled.

I enjoyed Sara’s writing. Aside from reading short novella of hers in an anthology, this is the first book I have read by her and really connected to her writing. It flows easily and seems so natural. I have to point out that I love the chapter titles – those had me dying – so damn creative. There were not any surprises for me and it all played as I expected. I do enjoy books that have more suspense in them, but I enjoyed these characters so I wasn’t overly annoyed by the lack of angst.

Overall, if you are like me and have not read this series, don’t expect a lot of doucheness in this story. If you want that, like I do, we need to start from the beginning and will probably appreciate this book a bit more. I was able to read this without any confusion as to who the other characters were but I am curious as to how they all play a part. It’s a series I find myself wanting to go back to the beginning and reading now.

 

 

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.

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