The Coach's Lusty Hotwife

By Alana Church

With her husband's football team in the dumps, horny hotwife Janet has an idea. Sex sells, and when the coach's wife is the one who is up for grabs, all the players will give it (and her) their best shot. But can she convince strong armed quarterback Jimmy "The Cannon" O'Bannon to play for the Promise Vixens? Find out in "The Coach's Lusty Hotwife!"

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

Janet got up. Jimmy politely rose in response. “How would you like to see some of the scenery?” she volunteered. “There is an absolutely incredible view of the Teta Peaks from the front of the house.”

“Sure. I guess.”

“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.” A smile took some of the sting out of her words.

“How’s it going, honey?” Coach Wilson asked. He raised his eyebrows in polite question as Jimmy followed Janet up onto the deck, feeling almost as if they were a couple.

But not really. You’ll never be good enough for a woman like her.

“Everything is just fabulous, honey. God,” she enthused. “Could we have gotten a more perfect day?” She took a deep breath, looking up into the cobalt-blue sky, which had been scrubbed clean of clouds. “This is the kind of day that makes you feel lucky just to be alive, isn’t it?”

Coach Wilson reached out a long arm and pulled her in for a kiss. “For me, that’s every day.”

Janet pushed her hands against the tall man’s chest, giggling. “I’m going to take Jimmy to see the Tetas. You mind if I disappear for a few minutes?”

“Nope. You two go on with your bad selves. Mack and me can probably keep the place from burning down.”

“Why am I not filled with confidence?”

“Because you should have more faith in your husband, and the manly qualities that made this country great.” Coach Wilson took a bite of his hamburger.

“Uh-huh.” Janet seemed unconvinced, but took Jimmy’s arm. “Come on, Cannon. Let’s go before we all die of testosterone poisoning.”

He frowned as she led him into the house. “Shouldn’t we go around front?”

“Nah. You can’t get a good look at the Tetas from there. We have to go up to the second floor, where there isn’t a bunch of crap getting in the way.”

He shrugged, but followed obediently. Compared to outside, the house seemed hot and breathless, almost stifling. Janet seemed to notice it, too. “Montana,” she sighed as she led him up a staircase. The polished wooden bannister was like silk under his fingers. “The furnace runs for eight months straight, and then when it finally warms up, we have about two weeks of spring and then it’s time to turn on the air conditioning.

“Here we go,” she said, opening a door at the end of a hallway. “The best view is from here.”

He twitched aside the curtain, his brows drawing down in confusion. The window looked east, away from the Bitterroot Range that formed the valley that Promise lay in. All he could see was the street, parked cars, and the other houses in the tidy little subdivision.

“Um.” He didn’t quite know what to say. Was he missing something? “Where are the Tetas?”

“You don’t know much Spanish, do you, Jimmy?” Janet’s voice was low, amused. But with something deeper running through it.

“Tetas is Spanish for ‘breasts.’

“And they’re right here.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boruma Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Jun 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463407592

Alana Church

Born and raised in Illinois, Alana attended the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, graduating with a degree in Education in 1994. She soon found out that the teaching life was not for her, and after a series of adventures has settled down in the Chicago suburbs, where she works for a telecommunications company.Alana lives alone, surrounded by books, pictures, a pile of story ideas, and a turtle named Pedro.

Book preview

The Coach’s Lusty Hotwife

By Alana Church

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

Copyright 2020 Alana Church

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~~ All characters in this book are over 18. ~~

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Chapter 1: Hard Sell

They were eating dinner when the phone rang.

No, Janet Wilson moaned, as her husband’s hand automatically went to his pocket. Please, Carl. For the love of God, let’s have one night in peace.

He grimaced as he looked at the screen. Can’t. It’s Douglas. And he’s announcing his decision in a couple of days. He tapped a button, and answered in an easy, relaxed tone. "Carl Wilson.

Yes, Terry. I was hoping to hear from you tonight. You have? Good. Janet closed her eyes as his face fell. Really? You sure you don’t want to take some more time and think about it? No, no, I understand. His lips peeled back in a mirthless smile, and his hand clenched around the sleek phone. If it feels right, and you’re positive, another week isn’t going to change things. I appreciate you letting me know. And we’ll see you on the field next year. Good luck, son.

He hit the disconnect button and set the phone on the table, screen side down. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, stabbing viciously at his plate.

Bad news? she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Douglas. Rotten little bastard has been stringing me along for weeks. But he’s going to Anaconda State. Just like we were afraid he would.

Janet sighed. She had been thrilled when came back to her hometown as the wife of the new football coach. Promise, Montana, wasn’t on anyone’s list of the most exciting cities in America. But after years of following Carl around from one job to the next, she had hoped that they would be able to put down some roots. Or, in her case at least, feel as if she wasn’t a hobo or a gypsy, always renting because there was never enough stability to buy.

It wasn’t her husband’s fault. She had known the score when she married Carl. Unless you were one of the fortunate few, a head coach or an assistant at a major program, a football coach was always one or two bad seasons away from being fired. And if you were young and ambitious like her husband, you would be always looking to take the next step up the professional ladder. Which meant that their lives had about as much stability as a pair of jackrabbits being chased by a pack of coyotes.

But taking the job at Promise College had dangled the hope of a less nomadic lifestyle in front of her eyes. Carl had always enjoyed his visits to her hometown, and over the past two years, she had sensed an easing in his ambitions. The gorgeous mountains, the clean country air, and the welcoming, relaxed friendliness of their neighbors and her family had worn off some of his restlessness. She had dared to hope that he might decide that he didn’t need to chase the dream of becoming a big-school coach, and they could settle down here for a good long while. Maybe even permanently. She’d had her fill of moving trucks and security deposits. Let someone else be the new assistant linebackers coach at Iowa. They wouldn’t need it.

Of course, Carl would need to be successful in Promise in order for that dream to come true. No college administration, no matter how small the school or relaxed its attitude towards its athletic department, would tolerate losing forever. The Promise Vixens had been the laughingstock of the Bitterroot Conference for years before Carl had taken the job. And his first two years had been mediocre at best. They had one or two more years. Three, at the most. And then they would be sent packing, just the latest in a long line of failures who couldn’t turn the floundering program around. Worst off all, Carl might be tarred with the ‘loser’ brush. He wouldn’t be a rising star any longer, but a man who had failed his first chance at running a program on his own.

Damn it, her husband was saying. I was really hoping to get him at quarterback. I mean, he might be an overgrown, immature, snotty little prick, but I’ve dealt with worse. And by God can he throw the ball.

Don’t worry, honey, she said encouragingly. I’m sure it will all work out. You’ve got some more kids coming in this weekend on recruiting visits, don’t you?

Carl nodded, somewhat mollified. Yeah. His fist clenched beside his plate. And I need to land at least two or three of them. I need playmakers, Janet. Kids with skills. A quarterback. And at least one wide receiver. Two would be even better. Me and Mack are putting together a defense that’s going to make coaches in this conference piss themselves. But no one ever won a nothing-nothing game. We need to score, somehow.

She pushed some of her pasta primavera around on her plate, worriedly noting the tense look on Carl’s face, then made a decision. Get up, she said, standing. And put on something nice. We’re going out.

Out? he echoed.

Out, she nodded firmly. And turn that damn cell phone off for once. Better yet, leave it here. You need to unwind a bit, baby. And I know just the way to do it.

He smiled at her, and she felt a quick flutter in her belly. Oh? I like the sound of that.

The name of the place was the Lucky Star. It was half a roadhouse, half a bar and grill, half a dance club, and it had been a Promise institution since before statehood. Over the years, hanging out at ‘The Star’ had become a rite of passage for the local teens. Janet should know. She had been one of them, once upon a time. She’d had her first legal drink inside its dark wooden walls. Her first illegal drink, too, now that she thought about it.

And don’t forget some other firsts, she recalled with a smile as Carl pulled their SUV into the gravel parking lot. Despite the fact that