Situations like this tended to be the loneliest for Mack Carmichael. Even though the league made money hand over fist...more money than it really knew what to do with, gone were the days that officials could fly in the day before a game and then fly back home the day after...unless it was a Sunday Night or Monday Night game. Cost cutting measures, supposedly... Nowadays, they had to fly-in game day morning and leave right after they'd wrapped up their post-game duties. Anyway, most officials had other jobs to get back to...not to mention their families, so it wasn't really a big deal.
The only reason Mack and his crew had been given this waiver to arrive a day early in the city of the game they were tasked with calling that week was because bad weather was in the forecast and there was a concern that flights would be canceled or delayed the morning of. Much to his surprise, although he'd been a single guy for most of his life until he married Teresa roughly ten years ago, he often found himself feeling lonely when he was away from she and the kids. Because of their open arrangement that any fun either of them had outside their marriage be kept secret from each other, Mack made a promise to himself to never line up any action when he was at home. That's part of why game day was so special to him. It wasn't just the thrill of being a part of the game that had been such a huge part of his life for so many years. It also meant getting to have the man-to-man connection that he craved so much.
Being in a hotel on a Saturday night in a sleepy Midwestern city - at least 12 hours away from any possible alone time with anyone from either of the two teams playing tomorrow - was pure torture for Mack. He'd caved in and gone on Grindr to see if he could find anything that floated his boat. No such luck. The only thing his phone gave him was a text from Gerry Phillips. The hookup he'd had with the hunky front office exec before the game a couple weeks ago had been super-hot...and spending the night with him to wake up to morning sex had been even hotter. Even though the man had echoed Mack's insistence that the two of them getting into a regular involvement wasn't on the table, he'd texted Mack a few times over the intervening couple weeks. It was obvious the exec was angling for another fuck. Mack wouldn't ever turn down that down...not after feeling like the 50-ish stud's ass was made perfectly for his cock, but he didn't want to lead the guy on either. He wasn't in the market for a regular side piece.
Mack read the text: "Still can't get that dick of yours off my mind. I went three fingers deep last night while I beat off, remembering how good you felt in me."
"Fuck!" he uttered underneath his breath, totally turned on by how hot Phillips seemed to be for him. He surreptitiously reached down and squeezed his cock in his jeans.
Even though he wanted to keep an emotional distance from Phillips, reading the text made his ego - and, honestly, his cock - swell. Briefly, it crossed Mack's mind to see if he could arrange a video chat date with Phillips. Maybe they could get each other off. But then he thought better of it. "Gotta stay strong," Mack thought to himself, turning the phone face down and trying to put the hunk out of his mind. Instead, he was now reduced to sitting at the bar in the practically empty hotel lounge, nursing a Tom Collins to pass the time. He was just about to give up, settle up with the bartender, and go back up to his room to inevitably fall asleep in bed watching reruns on TV when he saw someone in his peripheral vision walk up to him. He turned to face the person, preparing to hear some form of, "Hey, are you Mack Carmichael? That stupid penalty you called cost my favorite team a win, Asshole!"
Instead, he was greeted to the sight of a familiar face. It was the head coach of the home team. "Mack Carmichael," the man about 15 years Mack's junior - putting him probably in his early 40s - said with a big smile on his face, extending his hand to Mack, which Mack stood and shook.
"Good to see you, buddy!" Mack replied. "I'm surprised to see the home team coach walk into a hotel bar! I figured you'd be at the team facility, planning out your strategy for tomorrow."
"Ah, I got a couple guys on the other team's staff that are friends of mine. They wanted me to meet them here for a drink, so here I am!"
"You sure it's here and not a bar at another hotel? The league is pretty big on avoiding the optics of impropriety. Me and the other guys on my crew are staying here. They don't usually have anyone from either team staying at the same hotel as the officials calling the game."
"Oh. You're right, Doesn't make sense, does it?" Coach said, looking perturbed. He pulled out his phone and looked like he was typing a text...probably checking to make sure where he needed to go to meet his buddies. After a few moments, he slipped his phone back into his pants pocket. "You mind if I hang out with you for a few minutes until either they show up or they send me a text telling me where I'm actually supposed to meet them?"
"Not at all, man," Mack gestured to the seat next to him.
Coach caught the attention of the bartender. "Bring me whatever he's having, please."
"One Tom Collins, coming up!" he replied before hurrying off to prepare the drink.
"A Tom Collins? Really?" Coach turned to Mack, questioningly. "I'm more of a bourbon man, myself. But I like a little gin every now and then."
Mack grinned and reached over to pat the younger man on the back, "I like things that go down real smooth. Give it a shot. You'll like it!"
Coach grinned. "I'll hold you to that."
Although there hadn't been a hint of anything sexual yet and this particular head coach - although pretty attractive in a boyishly handsome way - hadn't really been on Mack's radar, there was something about the look he'd just given Mack that made him wonder. The bartender brought Coach his drink and moved down to the other end of the bar to attend to another patron who had just walked up.
Coach took a sip of his drink, "Mmm! Now I see why you ordered this. This is some good shit!"
"Told ya, buddy!" For some reason, Mack felt compelled to pat the man on his back again. Something felt like it was happening without Mack putting much effort into it.
"You know," Coach kept talking, "I'm really glad I ran into you, Carmichael."
There it is, Mack thought to himself. Coach must've been backing into The Talk all along and he hadn't recognized the signs. As furtively as possible, he gave the younger man a once over. Not necessarily his normal type, but he could definitely have a lot of fun with the younger man if that's where this was going. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"
"We both played for the same alma mater. I was looking forward to tomorrow, hoping to snag a few minutes with you out on the field during warmups to swap war stories from college."
Admittedly, Mack was a little bummed that this is where the conversation had gone instead of the coach asking for leniency during tomorrow's game in exchange for sex. He had attributed feeling down in the dumps to being away from his family without the hustle and bustle of game day to distract him. But maybe he just needed a good lay and had gotten his hopes up that that's the direction this was going in. Oh well. He DID love talking football and especially loved running into guys who'd played ball for the same college as him.
Half an hour had gone by and the two had gotten lost in talk of their time playing for the college team. Conversation had turned to how the younger man liked coaching and he'd even been curious about why Mack hadn't pursued going pro all those years ago. He'd really drawn Mack in and the two men had made a connection. But it dawned on him that so much time had gone by and Coach's friends from the other team still hadn't shown up or responded to his text. "Hey, uh... You know we've been sitting here yakking away for a long while now and your buddies still haven't shown up. Should you be getting worried?"
Coach blushed and looked uncomfortable. He downed the last of his drink and turned to face Mack. "I guess it's time for me to make a confession."
"What's on your mind, Coach?"
"I'm not actually meeting anyone here. I came here hoping to run into you."
This was a surprise to Mack, although it shouldn't have been. "How'd you even know where I'd be staying?"
"I checked with a couple of people who've been with the team for several years. They both told me this is the hotel that they used to put officials up in when they allowed Saturday night arrivals."
"I gotta tell you... I'm not sure I like you going to all that trouble to track me down so we could talk about playing for the same college team. That conversation took what...half an hour or so? We could've chatted tomorrow before the game," Mack said, sternly, adding in his mind 'if I wasn't already busy getting naked and sweaty with some other guy.'
Coach grinned. "I like talking with you, man, but conversation isn't really why I'm here." Looking around to make sure no one was paying attention, Coach slid his hand across and placed it on Mack's upper thigh, still not breaking eye contact. "You catch my drift?"
Mack looked down at the hand on his thigh and then back up at Coach. "I think I do. But I like it when guys are direct. Spell it out for me, Coach."
Coach leaned in and spoke softly. "Ever since I watched you call the big game a few years back, you've been at the top of my wish list, Carmichael."
"Yeah?" the chubby Mack had already started to get earlier when he read Gerry Phillips' text was being put into overdrive at the prospect of him getting some action tonight after all. He'd been around the block enough to know why guys were hot for him, but he wanted to egg the young coach on...play this out a little while longer. Sex was always better when it was preceded by a little anticipation. "I think I'm pretty plain to look at. What's so special about me to you?"
"Fuck," Coach practically growled lowly. "What isn't special about you?! Those muscular arms of yours and the way your chest fills out your uni. Gets me rock hard just thinking about it. Not to mention that cute little ass of yours."
This was a new one to Mack. He wasn't strictly a top and he'd been fucked on more than a few game days, but no one had ever specifically complimented his butt before. "You like my ass, huh, Coach?!"
"Oh yeah. Like is a gross understatement."
"I don't know. No one would mistake me for a tight end out there." It seemed to Mack that - per capita - most of the best asses on the field at any given time during a game belonged to a tight end.
"It's true I like a nice shapely, muscular bubble ass," Coach admitted. "But you've got a cute ass and it's always gotten my attention."
Mack took a sip of his drink, looked at the boyishly handsome 40-something head coach, and gestured toward his left hand. "I see you've got a wedding band on your finger. I'm kinda surprised you're after me."
Coach grinned and his eyes sparkled. "I could say the same thing about you, buddy. You've got your own shiny band on your ring finger."
"Yeah," Mack retorted. "But I was sitting here minding my own business, not out looking for dick."
"Shit! A man like you shouldn't have to look. It should always come to you."
