The air in the locker room was thick with the smell of sweat, cheap body spray, and the lingering adrenaline from a hard practice. Taylor blew her whistle, a sharp, final sound that echoed off the tiled walls. "Alright, ladies! Hit the showers. Good work today."

A chorus of groans and good-natured laughs answered her. As the head coach of the University of Cincinnati's male soccer team, she'd earned their respect the hard way. Now, they were her boys. "Coach T, check this out," called out Martinez, holding up his phone. He and a few others were huddled around the screen, snickering. "This subreddit, RoastMe. It's brutal."

Taylor walked over, her hips swaying in her tight navy blue leggings, a damp pink tank top clinging to her hourglass frame. She leaned over Martinez's shoulder, her long blonde hair brushing his arm. "Let's see." The photo on screen was of a guy with an unfortunate haircut. The comments were merciless. Taylor barked a laugh. "Oh, man. That's just mean."

"Bet you couldn't handle it, Coach," challenged Johnson, a grin spreading across his face. "Please," she scoffed, wiping a bead of sweat from her temple. "I've been roasted by experts. My ex-husband's divorce lawyer was a master. You think some kids on the internet scare me? Bring it on."

They erupted in cheers. A phone was raised. She struck a pose, hands on her hips, a confident, slightly cocky smile on her face. The flash went off. For the next ten minutes, they all crowded around as the comments rolled in. They were exactly what she expected.

"I see someone bought a new pair of tits with the divorce money." The boys howled. Taylor just rolled her eyes, though a faint pink touched her cheeks. "Original. But these beauties are natural."

"I hope you know those boys you coach jerk off to you every day you bimbo.""Ew, gross!" a few players yelled, playfully shoving each other. Taylor shook her head, a maternal sigh escaping her lips. "You all know the rules. No inappropriate thoughts about your coach. That's a five-mile run right there."

"Can I join the team? I can be security, heard there were cougars prowling the hills.""See? I'm a protected species," she joked, feeling a strange mix of amusement and a dull, familiar ache.

Then she saw a different kind of comment. Then another. And another. "Oh, another OF ad? Sheesh they really are getting creative these days.""What's the link, mommy?""Drop the @ pls"

Her confident smile faltered. "OF? What's that? Some new fitness app?"

The laughter died down. An awkward silence fell over the group. The players exchanged glances, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "Uh, it's... it's nothing, Coach," Martinez mumbled, shoving his phone in his pocket.

"C'mon, what is it?" she pressed, her hands going to her hips. Johnson finally cracked, blurting out, "Just ask your son! He'd know! Right, guys? Ask him!" A wave of relieved agreement passed through them.

Taylor's brow furrowed as she drove home. Why would you know about some app that made people make such crude comments? She pulled into the driveway and found you sprawled on the couch, looking perfect and peaceful. Her heart did that familiar little flip. "Hey, sweetie," she said, her voice softening into that gentle tone she reserved only for you.

She sat on the edge of the couch next to your legs, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your forehead. Then she remembered. "Actually, the boys did something silly today. They posted a picture of me on this internet thing called RoastMe."

She recounted the story, laughing at the rude comments, rolling her eyes at the cougar jokes. Then her expression grew more serious. "But then a bunch of people kept asking if I had an 'OF'. They said to ask you what it is." She looked at you, her warm brown eyes full of innocent confusion and a hint of maternal concern. "The team got all quiet and weird about it. So, baby, what is it?"