Page 58 of No Pucks

I check the locker room for any stragglers, sending my assistant coach to the bus to make sure we have all the guys before I go to find Logan, against my better judgement.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t look at me while he strips off the rest of his gear.

“You don’t seem fine.” I cross the space between us, wanting to touch him, but I keep my hands in my pockets.

He finally lifts his eyes. “Who’s asking? My coach or Anthony?”

“Can’t it be both?” I clench my hands into fists.

“You know it can’t.” His words carry no emotions.

I force my hand out of my pocket and brush a lock of hair out of his face. “Which do you want me to be?”

“For one, I’m fine, and the other, I don’t know, but I’m sure as fuck not talking to my coach about my father.”

“Why not? Your coach wouldn’t want your father interfering with his team no matter who the guy is.”

“Especially then.” He steps back and pulls his shoulder pads off, tossing them into his bag. “Just go be the coach. I know you have a job to do. I need a drink or five and to forget.”

My stomach twists. He hadn’t explicitly said so, but I’d put together the pieces and knew his coping mechanism was not just drinking, but also hooking up. Our hookup had been just that. And was it still?

But I know, deep down, it’s not. This is familiar. The night we hooked up all those months ago, he’d worn a mask, but he was like this. Had he met me after a fight with his father? I don’t have to wonder. The answer is written in his body language.

I don’t want him going to someone else for what he needs, not when he’s like this.

The pieces come together. I’m worth the work and hockey isn’t, all the things about his father. I hate the guy, and I didn’t have to live with him, grow up with him, or get sideline coached by him.

“Talk to me. Please.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m used to who he is.” He barely looks at me.

“I’m not letting you forget with anyone else.” The demand is clear in my tone.

“Not letting?” He shoves down his pants with some effort, leaving him in just a jock.

I try not to look, but my cock takes notice. It’s more than just how he looks. I need to mark my territory. I want to break the neck of anyone else who even looks at him. “You heard me.”

He steps forward, bringing us chest to chest, putting his hands on his hips. “I’m going to forget tonight. We are in a hotel. You can’t?—”

I shove my thumb into his mouth. “There is no curfew tonight. If you can be out, you can be on your knees.”

His lips pull into a slight smile around my thumb before speaking around it. “Are you going to let me forget, or are you going to make me talk about it?”

I play with his tongue, getting harder by the second. “I’ll use you however I see fit and ask what I want. You don’t have to tell me, but I want to know. I want to know you.”

Am I saying too much? I’m not even sure he wants more out of this than to be ruthlessly fucked.

Is it wrong of me to want it?

To want more with him, even knowing we have an expiration date?

I want to be selfish for once in my life, to take what I want and not care how anyone else feels. Not my ex-wife, not my agent, not my team, not my publicist. Logan is just for me.

“Turnabout is fair game. So if you ask, I’m going to ask too.”

“Okay.” I nod.

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