Chapter 10
ten
ASHER
“Don’t worry, Cade, we got this.”
Cade’s head whipped up at my offer.
What the hell was I doing? My mind struggled to catch up with my gut instincts. I was perilously close to breaking ethical, responsible coaching rules. But I couldn’t make myself take them back.
There was something about Cade that called to me in a way that no one had ever done before. This young rookie was an intoxicating mix of strength and vulnerability, combined with an edge of softness that he hid under a fortress of forced calm.
And I longed to make something, anything, easier for him.
So, if I had to break a couple of little—okay, maybe major—rules to take some of the immense pressure off Cade’s shoulders, then I couldn’t regret the small risk to my own career to offer him that reprieve.
Cade’s mouth formed a stunned “O” shape as he considered the possibility. “I. . . I couldn’t ask you to do something like that for me. It’s too much. I don’t want special treatment because you feel bad for me, Asher.”
Good god. My more primitive instincts surged against my self-control. I clung desperately onto the shred of decency inside me. Cade wasn’t mine to take care of.
I never hooked up with anyone in hockey, even during my wildest nights in university. And I certainly had never violated an organizations—and my best friend’s—trust over an insistent attraction.
That thought was the only thing that kept me from spilling just how many ways I needed to make things better for Cade. And none of them had anything to do with pity.
I wanted nothing more in this moment than to gather Cade in my arms—even in his sweaty hockey gear—and promise him that I would fix any problem he was facing. The way Cade took me apart piece by piece when he aimed those sweet green eyes at me should be illegal.
As much as I wanted to let go of everything and speak my desires into the open, I knew I would never forgive myself if I didn’t do the honorable thing.
I wanted Cade’s trust, not some quick, meaningless physical interaction to sate the lust constantly riding me. I was twenty-nine-goddamn-years old. Not some teenage kid letting his hormones drive his decision-making.
The inconvenient, growing attraction I carried for Cade rebelled at the notion of being pushed to the back of my mind and locked down. But I did it anyway.
It rankled that Cade saw himself as an obligation. I cut him off before he could spiral too deeply into the idea that there was even a remote chance I didn’t want to be there for him.
“Cade. Wanting to help you has nothing to do with pity or anything like that. Can you trust me?”
I kept my gaze steady on Cade’s, looking for any discomfort that he wouldn’t want to be alone with me in my office.
The rookie blew out a breath, some of the tension in his expression disappearing.
“Yes, Asher. I trust you.” Cade didn’t blink and his eyes held mine captive as he spoke the words.
Concern hit me deep in my chest once again. Those dark circles under Cade’s eyes haunted my thoughts for hours after I’d left him on that bench at the end of practice.
That gnawing need to take care of Cade was the only reason the invite had fallen from my lips. Of all the feelings my ethics and pseudo-alternate coach position demanded I withhold, offering Cade a safe space and a place to clear his head wasn’t one of them.
Hours later, the worry that I was wrong in bringing Cade into my space rode me hard as I paced back and forth across my apartment, waiting for the clock to hit 4:30 p.m. so I could head over to my office to meet him.
“Poe, I’m definitely an idiot,” I commented to my cat, who sat nestled in a regal-shaped ball in the corner of the living room sectional.
Poe gazed back at me with the beleaguered expression that suggested I didn’t buy him expensive enough treats for him to deal with this kind of problematic human shit.
“Thanks, dude. Super helpful. I’m feeling really loved.”
Despite my sarcastic word choice, I couldn’t keep the affection out of my tone.
What could I say? I loved that cat an unhealthy amount. Even if he was a shit listener.
Exhausted by the circular pattern of my thoughts, I collapsed onto the opposite end of the couch, careful not to jostle Poe.
Relieved of his duty, Poe resumed his pre-dinner grooming ritual, which did absolutely nothing to reduce the short black hairs that clung to almost every object in the apartment.
I let my head fall onto the cushion behind me, the conflicting emotions still rioting inside my chest.
Unconsciously, my hands ran through my hair in frustration, no doubt messing up the thick, dark waves that had settled into a semblance of order after my post-practice shower.
It was an old habit that came back with a vengeance when I was nervous.
The urge to go into the bathroom to fix the mess atop my head before heading to the arena had me shifting in my seat.
This is not a date, I reminded myself.
The muted buzz of my phone alarm in my pocket signaled it was time to leave and saved me from thinking too hard about my appearance.
As I stood, I swiped up the Hammerheads ball cap that I’d dumped on my coffee table, flipped it around in my hands, and tugged it over my hair to sit backwards on my head.
There. Nothing says casual-non-date like a sweaty team cap.
I made my way to the door, pausing for the briefest moment to suck in a deep breath in an attempt to settle my nerves.
My body was confusing this hangout with a round one playoff game for some reason.
All the adrenaline from second- and third-guessing my choice to offer Cade this one-on-one session had revved up my system to the point where I would have enough energy to play double my average ice time if I were allowed to set foot, or skate, on home ice.
Locking the door behind me, I hoped the fresh air on the walk to the arena would help me cool off before I had to meet Cade.
Twenty minutes later, the faint knock came from the doorway in my office.
Chucking my hat on the side table next to the couch where I sat, I looked toward the empty threshold, confused.
Was this thing I felt for Cade literally driving me crazy to the point I was hearing shit now?
“Cade?” I called out.
I swore to god that I could smell the scent of his crisp, minty body wash on the wave of air created by the momentum of the door opening.
My mouth practically watered with the urge to reach for him and pull him into me so I could press my face against his neck and discover the scent of his skin hidden under the mild scent of his soap.
“Um. Hi, Asher.” His nervous greeting as he appeared in the doorway jolted me out of my lust-filled stupor.
Fuck. I’d been obsessing all afternoon like some idiotic sixteen-year-old waiting for his first date to pick him up.
I hadn’t even uttered a goddamn word to him other than his name, too keen on devouring every little detail about this non-Hammerheads player version of Cade that I’d only caught glimpses of one or two times in the weeks since we’d met.
I waved him in, indicating he should sit in the space next to me. There was no way in hell I was going to sit for two hours on some hard-ass wooden chairs at my desk.
Dressed in worn navy sweatpants that hugged his toned thighs like a glove and a plain gray T-shirt that had seen so many washes it now molded itself to his skin, I knew I would have to come up with a way to keep my eyes off him for the next couple of hours.
You know exactly where your head is at, dumbass. It’s currently keeping all the blood in your body company—in your cock.
No. I will absolutely not get hard just because he looks so sexy yet adorable that I want to wrap him up and hold him on the couch. Or in my bed.
I was a fucking professional, and I was going to act like it.