Page 16 of No Pucks

“Why not? I want you.” Every fucking word he utters makes me harder.

“Because.” I hesitate. “It’s not professional, and we need boundaries.” No matter how good it felt at the time.

“If you think you can resist me forever, good luck, I guess.” He shrugs. Then, he steps back and fucking winks at me. “See you tomorrow, Coach.”

SIX

ANTHONY

My pulse races as I finally close the door behind Cox. I cringe calling him that in my head. He might be his father’s son, but he’s nothing like his father.

I’ll need to watch him closely and see if he plays like his dad. He won’t last long on my team if he does. I might get fired, but I won’t coach an insufferable puck hog who’s only playing for himself and out to injure even his teammates.

I dig through one of my boxes and find a bottle of vodka and a glass. I sniff the glass before shrugging and filling it. At this point, if I die from some infection from a dirty glass, would it be that bad? The alcohol should kill anything. I pour myself three fingers and drop into my chair.

What the fuck am I doing?

Is this even a good idea?

A lot stands between me and rebuilding my life back to any semblance of what it was before. If the divorce hadn’t left me nearly bankrupt, would I even have interviewed for this job? Being in the same city as Logan’s father is bad enough. Why did I think I could coach his son knowing he’ll come to games? Because in my mind, when I imagined this scenario, I hadn’t fucked his son, which would make ignoring the guy a lot easier.

None of this is a good idea. I still haven’t even begun to process the grief from the loss of my career, let alone how to start moving on from everything since, including my marriage breaking up. Not that I miss my ex, but there’s a reason I couldn’t bring myself to sleep with anyone for the last two years until Logan, and look how that turned out.

It wasn’t a perfect night like I’d told myself for months. No, it was just my soul craving contact and connection after losing my wife. Probably my ego, too. Mine got bruised when she cheated. It felt good to be wanted and by someone younger. That’s all that night was. This lingering attraction is just because I built it up in my brain.

I shoot the vodka and pick up my phone.

Anthony: Are you in surgery tonight?

Krista: I’m on call.

Anthony: Does that mean you can sit in a bar and support me?

Krista: Does it need to be a bar?

Anthony: A coffee is not going to cut it tonight.

Krista: I’m rolling my eyes but also putting on clothes.

Anthony: Where are we meeting?

Krista: Where is your place again?

Anthony: Union Square

Krista: Swanky. Your life can’t be too bad if you’re affording living there.

Anthony: I’m not broke, just fifty percent lighter and on a budget.

Anthony: Where are we meeting?

Krista sends me a location only a few blocks from the Gods’ practice facility, so I grab my coat and lock my office behind me. I check the distance again when I get out on the street. My leg aches, but it doesn’t hurt. I’m just not used to being on it for so long, or on skates for that mater, I tell myself as I opt to walk in the unseasonably cold weather instead of getting an Uber.

Another reason Florida is better—it’s not fucking cold in September. Hell, it’s not this cold ever. I grit through the last block, knowing I shouldn’t have walked. I at least should have gone back for my cane. I find Krista standing outside the bar with a lit cigarette between her lips.

“Krista!” We have been friends since college, and it’s nice to be back in the same city.

She jumps and drops the butt, putting it out with her foot. “Fuck. You scared me. I thought you’d be in a car.”

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