Friday, February 9, 2018

Review Tour: How To Date a Douchebag: The Coaching Hours by Sara Ney


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.


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.

3.5 stars
Review by Lisa Kane

Coach Donnelly is warning his wrestling team that his daughter is coming to town and will be going to their school. They are to keep their hands off!
“I am telling you now, stay away from her. If I catch any of you sniffing around, I will hand you your ass so fast, when you wake up, your clothes will be out of style.”

Rex Gunderson and Eric Johnson, in their infinite wisdom take this warning to be a challenge. So of course, there’s a stupid bet and it just might involve the coach’s daughter. 
Anabelle Donnelly’s whole life is in an uproar. She left her friends and her life behind and has moved in with her father. She hasn’t had much of a relationship with her father, thanks to her mother. When they divorced, she made things tough for her father to see her. Anabelle wants to spend time with her dad, but she wants her own place. She’s used to being independent. She wants that life back.

Elliot is more of a geek than a jock. But he’s been friends with the guys on the wrestling team, even though they don’t share much in common. When he hears sniffling in the library, he checks it out. Seems Anabelle is having a crap day and Elliot unknowingly cheers her up. 

“Don’t worry about it, I have sisters-I’ve been down this path a time or two.” Or a hundred, usually under duress.   

Here’s to the beginning of their friendship. Of course, there are serious complications. Messy complications. I have to admit that I never warmed up to Elliot’s character. He was a bit too wishy washy for me. You know whom I did end up liking? Rex. Yep, never thought I could like this goofball. But he proved himself to be a man of substance. 

Unrequited love sucks dick. 
I’ve never felt it, never been in it, but I imagine loving someone who doesn’t love me back would gut me. Poor bastard. 

But characters fall for who they are meant to be with, whether I agree with their choices or not. But Rex is getting his own story so that makes me feel somewhat better. 

I would give her the world if I could. 


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.

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