Page 21 of Coach's Temptation

Snap.

The blood in my ears roars like I just took a slapshot to the skull. My grip on my cards tightens, edges bending under the pressure. The breath in my chest locks up, pressure building, fists curling, jaw clenching so tight my molars might crack.

But I don’t move. Don’t react.

Because if I react, I lose.

I stare at my cards, my hands shaking.

“Yeah. She’s hot as hell,” Ryder continues, sipping his beer. “Way too good at putting us in our place, though. She'd get you to do ten push ups before she let you-”

Nope. He's not finishing that sentence.

I shove forward so fast, so sudden, the entire table rattles, poker chips spilling from their neat stacks, a beer sloshing over the rim of Logan's glass.

"Okay!"

Every player at this table freezes, their eyes darting between me and Connor. Even the game on TV seems to fade into white noise.

Connor blinks. His face drains of color. "Coach, I didn’t mean—"

"Play." My voice is low, steady, controlled. Like I’m not seconds away from knocking this whole damn table over.

“I was just—”

"Play your damn cards, Walsh."

The tension thickens like a fog over the mountain tops overlooking Iron Ridge.

Logan clears his throat. Ryder swipes a hand over his jaw. Connor, who was just fine running his mouth a second ago, suddenly finds his beer very fucking interesting.

No one speaks.

No one even breathes too loud.

"Fuck it. I'm all in."

The words drop from my mouth like ice. I need to get out of here. I shove my entire stack forward, chips scattering across the smooth green felt.

Groans echo around the table. Connor's head drops back against his chair. "Fuck."

"Jesus, Coach." Ryder tosses his cards face down. "At least let us pretend we have a chance."

One by one, they fold. Smart boys. I flip my cards - another straight flush. The collective 'shit' that follows almost makes me smile. Almost.

I gather the chips, stacking them with a immense pride.

Blake's eyes read me like he reads opposing defensemen. "Leaving already?"

I nod, but don't say anything. I need to get the hell out of here before Idosay something. Something that I can't take back.

Suddenly the room feels too small, too hot. Too full of assholes who don’t know when to shut the hell up.

I push off the chair, grab my coat, and walk out. I step out onto Logan's porch and the rain is falling heavy around Iron Ridge as I close the door behind me.

Fuck. I shouldn't be this annoyed.

I don’t need romance. I need focus. I need to clear my head before I walk into that locker room in three days and lead my team onto the ice.

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