Page 55 of No Pucks

I sprint back to help with D, but that’s how most of the first period goes. We’re just playing fucking catch up. Coach leaves me in until the last thirty seconds and then puts the other Ridgeway back in.

Great. I don’t get a fucking chance to play with the both of them and see our chemistry on the ice.

I’m beyond pissed when we retreat to the locker room between periods. I sit as far away from Anthony as possible while he gets out his little white board. I’m not even listening. I close my eyes and rest my head back, sucking in slow, deep breaths, regaining my control. This is one game. I don’t let anyone push me to anger—not my fucking father and not Anthony.

“Cox?”

I open one eye. “Yes?”

“Tired? Were you up too late this weekend?”

I bite back the first thing I want to say. You tell me, your dick was inside me. Instead, I say a much milder, “I slept plenty. I even made that early added practice.” My words earn me a few chuckles from the guys, who quickly try to mask them.

Anthony scowls. “That’s not what I meant…”

“I’m great. Just focusing on my game before we go back out there.”

“Can we have a word?” he asks.

I shove to my feet and follow him into the training room.

He closes the door behind us. “Why are you ignoring me?”

“I wasn’t aware you were talking to me.”

“You had your eyes closed, not paying attention to me.” Anthony clearly wants to pick a fight.

“Feeling guilty?” I ask, a smirk growing on my lips.

“I won’t ever feel guilty over the way I choose to coach my team.”

“I’ve not said a word about your coaching, and yet here we are.”

“Because I can tell you’re off.” He raises his voice.

I don’t take the bait. “I haven’t said a word. If I wanted to say a word, I would after the game. Do you need me to do something different?”

“You can’t act this way around the team.”

“Act what way?”

“Like nothing matters to you.” He got me there.

“I’m not letting you take my peace, especially when you didn’t give me a fucking heads up about benching me.” I stay calm, because I refuse to be the hot head my father was as a player.

“I hadn’t decided the line up until yesterday.”

“You had me alone for a few hours. Why didn’t you bring it up?” I ask, my spite getting the better of me.

“What did you want me to say? Pause the blow job so we can have a serious conversation?”

“It would have been fucking nice to have a heads up.”

“I’m not telling you you aren’t starting with my dick in your mouth.” His jaw flexes with his words, and I love how I’ve gotten to him.

“Why not? At least I wouldn’t be able to talk back.” I make a show of eye fucking him.

His expression falters in shock, or maybe he’s fighting amusement. “Is that what you want this to be?”

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