Page 23 of No Pucks

I’m beat by the time I make it to the team lift. I barely get through my normal sets and only feel better when my skates hit the ice.

I always do, but it’s only a temporary fix, not a solution.

I put my head down and skate, running drills until Anthony plays coach and starts singling me out. I should be mad, but I’m amused. Why is he paying me so much special attention? He should know I’m going to give back whatever he gives, and I love a challenge.

“We are going to try out a few different variations of lines in a scrimmage, so I’ll be switching it up to try different things.” Anthony passes out colored bibs like we’re in youth hockey all over again. “When I’ve decided the permanent lines, you’ll have jerseys in your color, but for now, these will work. Don’t be surprised if it changes.” He tosses me a green one, noticeably not putting me on the first line.

But I’m not worried. I’ll prove myself, just like I have on every other team I’ve ever been on.

“To match my eyes, Coach? I’m so flattered you noticed.” I hold it to my chest like it’s a treasured thing.

A couple of the guys laugh.

Anthony shoots daggers with his eyes, which makes me a little hard behind my cup.

I want to keep pushing his buttons, but I know I’m risking my play time, so I’ll be quiet for now. But I want to fuck him again, and I’m going to find a way to make it happen.

EIGHT

ANTHONY

“He keeps trying to jump me. I don’t know what to do.” I set my take out bowl on my desk and toss my napkin in it. “It’s been a long couple of weeks!”

“He keeps trying to jump you? Like when?” Krista asks with a mouthful.

“Any time we’re alone…” I realize how bad that sounds as it leaves my mouth.

“Why are you alone with him?” Her face tells me she’s horrified.

“We’ve had a couple of conversations. I told you about the first in my office. It’s been a couple more times.” I lift my shoulders, not wanting to fully admit I’d let him in my office two more times against my better judgement.

“Is that normal?” she asks, narrowing her eyes, clearly seeing through my bullshit.

“I don’t know. I’m new to the head coach thing.” I’ve spent a few years as an offensive coach at smaller D3 schools, and it’s a much different job. At least, that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself.

“So just stop having private conversations with him,” she says like it’s obvious.

“Don’t act like there is an easy solution to this! He hits on me during practice too. It’s more subtle, but he’s flirty.”

“Isn’t there an easy solution to this?” She sets her bowl down and picks up her drink.

“No, there isn’t.”

“You’re making excuses. Why?”

“Why do I have a friend who’s a voice of reason instead of someone who encourages my delusions?” I kick my feet onto my desk and lean back.

“Because I’m your only friend, you grumpy bastard, and you didn’t get a choice.”

I roll my eyes, but I know she’s right. “Is it bad that the more he mouths off, the more I want to put him in his place?”

“He has your number so good. Look at you going from baby gay to Ice Daddy overnight.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

Her face lights up. “A sore spot? That means it hits home.”

“No, I can just not like it!” I shoot back, even though I’m not sure why it irks me.

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