Triple Power Play (Obsessed Players Club #1)

13. Ethan

THIRTEEN

ETHAN

The past months have been an emotional roller coaster, with incredible highs and devastating lows. My departure left my players shocked and confused, and the guilt almost made me reconsider my decision.

Almost.

I had to do what was best for me. My dedication to the sport finally paid off, and I was thrilled to go to LA.

Dealing with my ex-wife was as miserable as expected—a painful reminder of the magnitude of her manipulation and mental warfare. Despite my efforts to part amicably, she made my life hell to the very end.

Moving out was the absolute worst. I packed my belongings as she relentlessly ran her mouth, belittling me and asserting I was nothing without her, that I only had a coaching position because of her. She threatened if I left her, I’d never coach professionally again.

The joke’s on her.

When confronted about the affair, she blamed me. She justified her actions by telling me how horrible I was in bed and how I couldn’t satisfy her. According to her, I’m a sexual deviant. A sadist —which couldn’t be further from the truth.

Still, part of me took her words to heart. There was some accuracy in them. We weren’t compatible. Her satisfaction requires a man to feed her ego, which wasn’t me. I couldn’t give her what I wasn’t feeling.

Another part of me wanted to retaliate by bragging about how hard Aurora came on my cock, but I kept my mouth shut, knowing it’d jeopardize the divorce.

It was my ex who retaliated, wasting more of my time and money by forcing me to remain in Boston while she contested the divorce. She pulled out all the tricks in the narcissistic handbook. She brought her father to the hearing to embarrass me, cried during negotiations to gain sympathy, and lied through her teeth, claiming I abandoned her while she was off fucking someone else.

She denied, denied, denied until I presented images of her screwing the general manager in our house while I was traveling. She rather underestimated my ability to use the security system or assumed I’d always be under her control. Or she didn’t care. Regardless, she finalized the divorce in a day. We both left with what we had. I wanted nothing more.

Now, I’m free from her grip and ready to start my new life in LA. With only a month before the hockey season begins, I’m a bundle of nervous excitement. I hardly slept last night and arrived at the airport hours before I needed to. I couldn’t wait to leave Boston.

Eager to pass the time, I stroll around. I can’t sit still. I’m too anxious to eat, and bars don’t appeal to me.

When nothing interests me, I decide to head to the VIP lounge with a book. I need an escape. I browse through the bookstore, choose a bestseller, and then go to pay.

A familiar face captures my attention, and I come to a halt. I do a double, then a triple-take, my mind struggling to process what I’m seeing.

“Holy. Fuck.”

The book slips from my grasp and falls to the floor. With clammy hands, I reach out and grab the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition.

On the cover is the hottest, most seductive woman I’ve ever seen, one I’ve also had the pleasure of having wrapped around my dick.

I gawk at a nearly naked Aurora on the beach under the headline, “White Hot: Special Collector’s Edition.”

Aurora, the girl on my mind, graces the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue.

Her luscious tits are on full display in a soaked and see-through bikini, her nipples pebbled. She’s on her knees in the sand with her legs spread, pulling down the sides of her bikini and exposing the top of her bare, smooth mound. Her long, dark hair is wet and messy, as if she was fucked on the beach, and my cock thickens.

The most captivating feature, however, is her lust-filled eyes. They gaze right at me, penetrating my soul. I can’t believe I hooked up with this girl in the back of a limo, and it was phenomenal.

Escort Aurora was gorgeous, but swimsuit cover model Aurora is mind-blowingly erotic—like I-wouldn’t-mind-blowing-a-load-on-this-cover erotic.

I’ve been inside this woman, listened to her moan my name and whimper as she came.

No fucking way.

I flip through and find her bio, learning she’s twenty-two. Her birthday is August 23 rd , meaning she was twenty-one when we slept together. I’m woozy. I knew she was young, but not that young. Jesus, this keeps getting worse—or better, depending on your perspective.

I’m drooling over her centerfold when a man browsing the magazine section fixates on Aurora’s enticing figure. Possessiveness takes me, and I grab the stack of magazines, preventing him from having one. I glare at him, and in return, he side-eyes me as if I’m deranged.

And maybe I am, because I feel ownership over a cover model who rejected me.

Boy, did I fuck up with her. Or maybe I could’ve fucked up even better?

Now I’m regretting not getting an escort pregnant.

I am deranged.

I want to think my time with Aurora is worthy of bragging rights, but unfortunately, I have no one to brag to except Jackson. With him, it’d be unprofessional to say anything, at least where others could hear.

Although he makes it extremely difficult not to throw it in his smug face.

It’s my first day, and of course, I can’t resist the temptation when I enter the locker room and see Jackson’s cubby proudly showcasing Aurora’s magazine photos. One, which I don’t have, is a centerfold of her in a transparent crop top, with her back arched to highlight her beautiful breasts and peaked nipples, and unbuttoned Daisy Dukes.

Jesus, she’s a wet dream.

“Do you typically display pictures of the women who dump you, O’Reilly?” I ask, my voice tinged with amusement and maybe slight bitterness over him having a photo I lack.

Silence permeates the locker room, and all eyes turn to us.

His face contorts with anger, his muscles tense. “What the fuck did you say?”

I hold my ground, a self-satisfied smile curving my lips. “You heard me.” I tilt my chin toward the collage of swimsuit and lingerie pics. “Does that shrine remind you she dumped you?”

He smirks. “I’m displaying pictures of my future wife. Jealous, Coach ?”

I swell with possessiveness that grows stronger and stronger every time I reminisce about my encounter with Aurora. “Not at all. Why would I be? Those pictures are as close as you’ll ever get to her.”

We stare at each other, neither one of us backing down.

The door to the locker room opens, and everyone’s attention is diverted to an older man who strides in with all the confidence of someone who owns the place.

Though I know he doesn’t.

Jackson’s attitude shifts. His shoulders become rigid, and a grimace crosses his face. He turns his focus to his cubby and rifles through his bag, seemingly preoccupied.

The other players follow suit, engaging in similar behavior to distance themselves from our unexpected visitor. Their discomfort is palpable, and as a coach, it’s my responsibility to ensure a positive and safe environment.

I know that sounds hypocritical after I was goading Jackson, but so be it.

“Can I help you?” I interpose between the man and my captain, who he’s walking straight toward.

“I’m here for my son.” He disregards my presence, not even acknowledging me.

Fuck that. This is my locker room. “Sorry, but family members are not allowed in the locker room. It’s strictly reserved for players and coaches.”

His eyes connect with mine, and he raises a condescending brow. “Coach Blackwood, I presume. I’m Police Commissioner O’Reilly. I’ve always had access to the locker room. Ask anyone.” A fake smile spreads across his face, and he gestures around the room.

“I don’t need to ask because it stops now. I need the team’s full attention. I’m sure you can understand.” I match his condescending attitude, crossing my arms over my chest.

“No, I don’t understand.” A sneer tugs at his upper lip. “I’m here to support my son.”

“I can see where your son gets his bullying from, which is another reason you’re not to be in this locker room. If I have to ask again, I’m calling security.” My frustration mounts, and I sense Jackson shifting behind me.

“Are you serious right now?” It’s almost eerie how his features and arrogant tone mirrors his son’s.

“Yes, and I’m also revoking whatever other privileges you think you have. Like everyone else, you need to support Jackson from the stands.”

He scoffs with disdain. “I have a suite.”

“Perfect. Now is the time to go there.”

I turn my back on the tyrant and direct my attention to my captain, who, for once, is speechless. His wide eyes follow his father as he leaves and slams the door.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” His words are rushed, barely above a whisper, his face flushed.

I’m not afraid of Jackson, and I’m certainly not afraid of his father. I didn’t make it this far by being a coward. Something is off about this situation, and I’m not about to let it go.

Reaching out, I clasp his tense shoulder.

He bats my hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Yeah, something is very wrong.

I drop my hands to my sides. “Here’s a piece of advice. Set your boundaries and cut off his access to you until he learns to respect them. You’re a big boy now, and if you want that,” I gesture to his shrine of Aurora, “you need to grow up and dump the toxic baggage. You can’t keep a girl like that by being an asshole, and we both know I’m not talking about her physical appearance.”