Page 10 of Edging Coach
As soon as the door closed behind him, I sat on the end of one of the beds, swearing in English. And Russian. And Czech. Basically all the cursing I’d learned from teammates throughout my career.
Except Quebecois. Because somehow that—all those delightfully blasphemous words and phrases—scraped too close to the bone this time.
Fucking hell. What was I supposed to do now?
Okay, I knew what I wasgoingto do. Grab a shower, probably jerk off, sleep, and then coach the Abbotsford Grizzlies like the professional they’d hired.
Pretty fucking simple. And also… not.
How the hell do I do my job when every time I look at him, I see everything I didn’t know I was craving?
I still didn’t know quite what it was he did that turned me into electrified jelly, only that I was an absolute idiot for his touch, and I needed more.
Except I needed this job, too. And nothing would end a coach’s career like people finding out he’d slept with a player. I knew coaches whose careers had survived all kinds of things that should’ve been one-way tickets to unemployment, but sex between a coach and player? Amalecoach and amaleplayer? Yeah, no. Hockey had made some progress in terms of accepting out queer players in the years since I’d been the first to come out, but notthatmuch progress. And anyway, coaches and players fraternizing quite that much wasn’t a precedent anyone should be setting; the power imbalance, the potential for favoritism—it was a bad idea. A terrible idea.
A seriously hot and irresistible idea.
I groaned and lay back across the bed, staring up at the ceiling as I wondered when I’d turned into a complete dumbass. I’d skated on eggshells for most of my career, needing to bethe pristine example of moral flawlessness and athletic excellence so I could pave the way for more queer players to come after me. I’d been the first to come out. The first to bring a male partner to a red-carpet event. The first to marry another man.
And also the first to very publiclydivorcethat man, which hadn’t done good things to my professional reputation. Because, of course, us splitting up was proof of everything everyone said about gay men, I guessed. I still didn’t understand all the bullshit.
Nor did I understand why Devon made me want to be reckless for the first time in my career. The first time in my life.
Sighing, I wiped a hand over my face. Maybe this would get easier when I could no longer feel everything he’d done to me. When the bruises faded and the aches died away.
Or maybe it would get worse because I’d crave everything that had left me with those bruises and aches.
“I’m such an idiot,” I murmured into the stillness.
I really was. But I wasn’t that much of an idiot. I needed this job. The Abbotsford Grizzlies needed me. The team was depending on me to do my job right and do right by them. And what happened when Vancouver needed us to send up a defenseman if I was sleeping with one of them? It wasn’t my decision, but the GMs and Vancouver’s coachwouldask for my input. How could I be unbiased about selfishly keeping Devon close by? Or evenmoreselfishly sending him up so I could breathe?
This wasn’t going to work. Even with us keeping our hands off each other, I couldn’t be objective about him. That wasn’t fair to him or either of the teams.
Okay. We’d put a stop to things. That was done.
Next step, I’d coach this team back onto the rails and get them through this season.
Then, when the season was over, I’d sign a contract elsewhere. I’d get the hell away from the Grizzlies. Away from Abbotsford.
Away from the man whose incredible kiss I could still taste.
CHAPTER 4
DEVON
Even with the trainers and all the equipment needed for a great workout at the rink, I laced up my shoes and hit the streets for a run. Abbotsford was nearly deserted this Saturday morning, at God knew what hour. Still dark, heavily raining, a bit of wind and just awful.
Masochist.
Ha, you wish.
My little Sadist’s heart laughed as I waved to an intrepid pet parent walking a large dog wearing a pink vinyl coat. Damn dog was drier than I was.
The owner waved and gave what I thought was a smile. Given that I had already passed them, I hadn’t even noted the owner’s gender. Average height and average build. I would be useless if the cops asked me for a description.
But I could tell them the exact hue of brown that Jack Showalter’s eyes were. Or how his pupils dilated when he was aroused. The shade of pink his ass turned when he was spanked. How he dribbled a little bit of spit down his chin while I fucked his face.
Christ Jesus.
