No Pucks (Gods Versus Monsters Hockey #1)

8. Anthony

EIGHT

ANTHONY

“ H e 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.

“So you’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?” She’s practically giddy .

“What?” I ask, not sure I want to know.

“Fucking him.”

“You said I already did!” A technicality, but it’s nice to win one exchange with her.

“You know what I mean.”

“What do you mean?” Now I’m just playing dumb to stall.

“Bury yourself inside him.”

I rub a hand over my face. “Maybe I’ve been thinking about it a little.” In actuality, I’ve been thinking about it since that night. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

“Does this change your boundaries?” Is she encouraging this?

“I can’t.”

She lifts her brows but doesn’t say anything.

“I need to go to films with the team.” I drop my feet and shove away from my desk.

I’ve watched Logan for the last few weeks, and he’s good, but he could be so much better. Maybe that’s my plight in life moving forward: to watch endless amounts of talent wasted in what could have been, squandered when I’d give anything for another year in the NHL. Maybe my coach would have the same thing to say about my blind spots, but it feels a little like hell as we approach our first game. I miss playing more than I thought I would. I thought I’d mourned all I had to mourn, but smelling the ice every morning while my fucking leg aches, keeping me from skating with the guys, chisels a new hole in my chest.

Maybe I’m not cut out for coaching. I know how to play, but getting these guys to do what I want seems impossible. How did my coaches inspire me? The returning guys play well together, but Rex was a legend. He knew how to form a team. How do I get the new guys to fit into that mesh, or how do I unravel what he created to reforge it better?

And my biggest problem is Logan. I don’t know how to get through to him. He took direction so damn well that night, but on the ice, he’s like his fucking father.

“Stop hogging the puck, Cox,” I yell as Logan skates by. “Pass it up.”

“Yes, Sir.” He passes the puck, turns to skate backwards, and salutes, all while dodging the defense and out skating half the team.

Every comment I make to Logan, he seems to turn it into something more, like he relishes them, even when I’m harsh. He’s got a smile on his face and he’s going to tease me. I just know it.

I roll my eyes but keep the comment to myself. I need to find a way to get his ego in check, to humble him so he stops showboating without beating it into him. He’d listen to me if I had him naked on the ice. He’d learn real fucking fast.

My handprints would look spectacular on his ass.

I lock my jaw and grind my teeth, knowing exactly what he’d say if I threatened to beat it into him. Logan would be on his knees in a second, mouth open, telling me to have my way with him.

And now, I’m half fucking hard in practice. Great coaching. And even better at staying away from him. I need to get my head straight and stop before this goes any further.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to think of anything to make me soft again before someone notices.

But when I close my eyes, all I see is Logan’s lips wrapped around my cock.

Fuck.

I flip through the index of turnoffs every guy keeps on hand: grandma, phobia, that one video with a cup we’ve all regretted looking up when the internet was spry. But nothing is working, not with Logan skating back and forth past me, being his self-assured little ray of sunshine, making his mouth unforgettable.

I finally land on the mental picture of my ex-wife and the guy she left me for, and that does the trick. I blow out my cheeks.

“Cox!” I yell again as they work through a man-up drill.

“How do you want me, Coach?” There’s slight allure to his tone.

“I want you to get down the ice.”

“I’ll get down anytime you tell me to!”

I hiss but don’t reply, knowing it will bring more attention to his comment. Hockey guys are crude. I know that, every coach and player knows it. If I hadn’t come down his throat, I wouldn’t be thinking twice about the comment. I’d probably laugh.

“Cox, you’re not in sync with Ridgeway.”

“Which one?” he calls back.

“Either!”

“Three-way! Got it.”

I sigh.

In the process of trying to find my lines and who plays best together, I’ve moved guys in and out of places to find the magic. The Ridgeway brothers have it, even if one of them is a bit of a wild card, never looking like he has slept enough or seen the sun.

I grab the notepad I keep in my back pocket and write myself a note to get in touch with the nutritionist about his meal plans. He needs some vitamins or something, but mostly, I just want to put it on the training staff’s radar in case he’s dealing with an underlying condition.

Cox meshes with this line a lot better than the other two, but he’s still too much of a solo player to work well with the other wing and center. If the three of them can get on the same page, they’d be unstoppable, but getting players to find that click is a mysterious thing all coaches chase.

“Savage, get lower. No, not like that.”

No one’s damn head is in the zone. Our first game is in less than a week, and I cannot get this team to play together cohesively.

I’m hoarse by the time I get to my office. I need a damn mega phone. I drop into my desk chair, rubbing right above my knee. I need a drink, or forty. Or maybe I need to get laid. I’m almost desperate enough to try an app, but I can’t take the risk of not being out yet. I want to settle into the team before that news leaks, and I know I won’t find what I want, that push and pull I know Logan will give in a second.

I wait longer than I know is necessary to make sure Logan is gone this time. The fucking Coxes. It’s bad enough I fucked him when his dad is the one who did this to me. I don’t need to give him any fucking ammunition. I’m not in the right headspace to turn him down tonight.

Krista: Come to the bar with me.

Anthony: I don’t know if I can.

Krista: You need to get out. I’m not letting you get depressed again.

Anthony: It’s not that. I’m hurting.

I know she’ll ask. It’s easier to get around with it. I don’t ever want to use a cane when I’m coaching, but today did a number on me. My fucking pain management doesn’t seem to be working, and there was no way I was getting out of the building without it. Maybe it’s ego, and I know I should use it, but I don’t want the team to see me like that yet. They won’t respect me, and I have a high mountain to climb in taking over Rex’s team.

Krista: are you taking your meds?

I roll my eyes.

Anthony: Yes, I actually am. I learned my lesson last time.

Krista: I believe you—for now.

Krista: But still, come out. A drink or three will help relax your muscles.

Krista: And you need to get laid.

Anthony: Is that medical advice?

Krista: Fuck no. I’m off the clock. It’s friend advice.

Anthony: One drink, but not far. I can’t walk.

Krista: I’m calling your broke ass a car.

Anthony: I’m not broke. Just cheap.

Krista: Whatever. I’ll be there in five.

I exhale and lean against the building, taking some of the pressure off my leg.

A car pulls up and the window rolls down.

“Come on!” Krista yells from inside.

I shove off the wall, grinding my teeth as I put weight on my leg. Pain takes my breath away for a minute, but I push through it. One foot in front of the other. I get to the car and groan as I sink into a seat.

“Your walking looks like shit. Have you been using your cane?”

“Don’t fucking start.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Where are we going? I need that drink now.” I breathe through the lingering pain as the car pulls back into traffic.

“It’s not far.” She doesn’t say more, and I’m thankful.

We get out, and I shuffle myself inside and into a booth, digging in my pocket for a pill bottle. I pop one and swallow it dry.

Krista snags the bottle from my hand, examining it. She hands it back without a word.

“Go ahead.”

She shakes her head.

I narrow my eyes. “Out with it.”

“Is that enough?”

“It’s fine…mostly. I can’t be high or foggy?—”

She cuts me off. “When pain meds are doing their job, you’re not going to be high. You’re not abusing them. You need them. You can do your job with the right pain management.”

“I don’t want a bunch of addictive shit, okay?” I’ve seen it happen to too many former players. “I’m barely forty. If I start now?—”

She cuts me off again. “If you don’t manage it, your quality of life is going to decline. And you need to walk with your damn cane so you don’t get this bad.”

I wave her off. “What are we drinking?”

She sits back and crosses her arms. “Something strong.”

“Bad day?” I ask, trying to move the conversation off me.

“I just got off a twenty-four-hour shift with an arrogant new doctor.” Her gaze flicks to the ceiling. “I refuse to focus on him.”

“Arrogant good or arrogant bad?”

She scoffs and fixes me in a stare. “I have sworn off men, so bad.”

I give her a knowing look. “I’ve heard that before.”

“My last husband was a mistake.”

“And the one before that?” I ask playfully.

She holds up her middle finger and then grabs a menu. “I have to be back at the hospital in ten hours. We need to drink fast so I can sleep.” She flags down a waitress and orders us a couple of bourbons.

“Are you working with Dr. Arrogant again tomorrow?” I reach down to rub my thigh.

She side-eyes my movement but doesn’t say anything. “I hope not. I’m going to stab him in the throat if I have to hear him mansplain something one more damn time.”

“Or you can’t admit you want to?”

“His head is too far up his ass to be good in the ER.” She huffs out a puff of air, blowing up her bangs. “Maybe I’ll see when our waitress gets off to distract myself.”

“Sounds like a solid plan.” My gaze flickers over to the bar where she’s waiting. She’s beautiful, but not what I want. Fucking Logan released something inside me I haven’t been able to sate with women—or with anyone, for that matter. “Then call me and tell me about it?”

Krista narrows her eyes. “Don’t even think about flirting her out from under me.”

“You don’t like a little friendly competition?” I ask teasing her, glad for the distraction.

She scoffs. “You’re a former NHLer with that—” she makes a face and waves at mine, “TV smile. I know what women like. I have to remind myself all the time to stay far away from types like you and Dr. Arrogant.”

“I thought we were friends?” I say flatly.

“We are, but that doesn’t mean you’re good for this temple of mental health.” She smiles as the waitress sets our drinks in front of us. “Thank you, Rose.”

“You’re welcome.” Rose takes her card and leaves.

“She’s too young for you.”

Krista returns her attention to me and blinks. “I don’t want to hear it, Mr. I hooked up with an eighteen-year-old and am considering doing it again.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’ve been thinking it,” Krista challenges.

“Fair point, but also entirely rude. I thought he was at least twenty-one.” I pick up my drink, sip it, then take a bigger gulp as I remember the way he looked at me in the locker room. “Hence why I need someone else to hook up with.”

She studies me. “Is that what you really want?”

I give her a flat look.

“What’s that look for?”

“That’s the look of me reevaluating all of my life choices.”

“Why?” she asks, taking a big gulp from her glass.

“Cox is proving to be difficult.”

A tiny little smile forms on her lips. “Difficult how?”

“Acting like he wants to keep hooking up?” I shake my head. “Everything I say, he’s got a comeback for. It’s not disrespectful per se, but he’s got a damn mouth on him.”

“No wonder you like him.”

I glare. “I can’t like him.”

“Didn’t you say he went after you?” she asks.

“That doesn’t change what it is.” I take another long pull from my glass, relishing the burn. Maybe this will help me sleep and not alternate between staring at the ceiling wondering what I did to deserve this and fucking my hand.

“No, but you’re not misusing your position if he’s chasing you.”

“That’s not how it looks or how anyone will see it.”

“Maybe you need to allow him to get it out of your system for you. I’m sure you can use it.” She shrugs and chugs her drink, already ordering a second round.

“I don’t need to get it out of my system. I need him to not be a happy, arrogant fuck and take some damn direction.” I shove a hand into my hair and sit back. Maybe adding alcohol to this rage wasn’t my best idea.

“Ow-ow. Look at you flipping into Ice Daddy.”

I hold up a hand. “Don’t you fucking dare start.”

“What, Ice Daddy?” she says in the sappiest voice.

I close one eye and groan my frustration. “No daddy from you, and I don’t want to lose this job. I will lose this job if I keep fucking him. It’s a conflict of interest. I’m in a position of power over him.”

“Sounds like he’s in a position of power over your free will.”

“You’re a goddamn feminist!” I exclaim and shoot the rest of my drink, way too sober for this.

“What does that have to do with anything?” She gives me a look like I’m an idiot.

“You should be against me using my position.”

“Not if he’s begging for it. I’m all about choice.”

I roll my eyes. “Why are you on his side?”

“I’m actually on getting my best friend laid’s side. You should try it.”

“Then I’ll go talk to Rose.”

She hisses. “Don’t you dare.”

“See? You don’t really want me to be happy!”

“What does he even look like?” she asks after Rose delivers our second round.

I pull up my phone and flip through the roster on the website before I turn my screen around.

“I hate the faces you guys make in those official photos.” She mimics a stone cold, dead eyed look then picks up her phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Finding his Instagram.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” she asks, but I can tell she already found it. “Damn. Those abs.”

“Don’t you start with that too.”

She turns her phone around, and it’s half fucking thirst traps. “Bet he can keep it up all night.”

“He can, and he’s got no gag reflex.”

Her eyes go wide for a split second. “You dirty fucker. I love it. How long do you really think you can hold out?”

I lift a shoulder. “As long as I keep my distance and drink with you when I’m feeling stupid, I should be fine.”

“How long do you think he’s going to let that work?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“You said he got what he wanted the first night you two hooked up, and now, he’s playing the game again. Do you really think he’s going to take no for an answer?”