Friday, 9 February 2018



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.  


      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?  



  The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag, #4)The Coaching Hours by Sara Ney
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I’ve been in a HUGE book slump. For what feels like months-but it looks like all I needed was a book about douchebags to cure me. But, in this case, there were no actual douchebags to be had. I’m actually shocked. Completely and utterly shocked. This book didn’t live up to its name and I think that’s a good thing.

Elliot and Anabelle are an unlikely duo. Right from the beginning of this book I didn’t see it coming. Didn’t see “them” coming. There was some back and forth with different boys, ones totally unworthy of lovely Ana-banana, and then she hit the jackpot. Elliot was amazing. Not DOUCHY at all. He and Anabelle hit it off right away and the rest is history as they say...or was it?

This book was a little choppy. Not going to lie. I loved the characters, even Rex, but I felt a bit jostled and it was almost as if Ney had a few ideas for this book and mixed them all together. Did it work out for me in the end? Yes. Was it her best? No. We’re these my two favourite mains? Yes! Was there something missing that I cannot pinpoint? Yes. Unfortunately, yes.

I did get pretty invested in the story because I was able to connect with Ana on a personal level. However, I still fee like these two young kids rushed into life too quickly-but I guess that’s how the story goes sometimes.

Ney did do a fabulous job getting me emotionally attached. She pulls on the readers heartstrings and she had the moves to back it up! I’m glad the series is over, and happy it ended on the note it did. I feel satisfied with the outcome and had a fun time reading How To Date A Douchebag, THE COACHING HOURS.

I must add, my absolute favourite parts of this book were the hilarious and totally inappropriate chapter previews. Just the BEST.

ARC received in exchange for an honest review

Reviewed by Jess for JoAndIsaLoveBooks Blog

View all my reviews

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. Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Newsletter | Website

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