Nothing is fucking working. I thought getting her out of my system would help. One weekend of debauchery to scratch the itch that's been driving me insane for years. But all it did was make it worse. So much worse.
Now I know exactly what she tastes like. I know the sounds she makes when she comes. I know how perfectly she fits against me, how her body responds to my touch like it was made for me.
And I can't have her again.
“Coach!” Ramsey's voice snaps me back to reality. “You want us to run it again or move on?”
I blink, realizing I've been staring into space. “Move on. Defense drill.”
The team transitions smoothly, used to my commands even when I'm being a temperamental asshole. I watch as they set up, trying to force my brain back into coaching mode.
“Astor!” I shout across the ice where Copeland is stilldoing suicides, his face red with exertion. “That's enough. Get in the drill.”
He skates over, breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face. “Thanks for the cardio, Coach. Really needed that today.”
“Shut up and get in position.”
The rest of practice is a blur of whistles, shouted instructions, and growing frustration—both with my team and myself. By the time I call it a day, everyone looks relieved to escape my wrath.
“Hit the showers,” I dismiss them with a wave. “And be ready to work tomorrow. Today was garbage.”
The players file off the ice, a few shooting me concerned glances. I ignore them, gathering my notes and equipment with jerky movements.
“Hey.” Blackwood appears at my side, his helmet tucked under his arm. “You good?”
“I'm fine,” I snap, not looking up.
“Bullshit, Coach. No offense.” He leans against the boards, blocking my path. “You've been a complete psycho since you got back. What happened?”
I finally meet his eyes, my jaw clenched so tight it hurts. “Nothing happened. I'm just not impressed with how soft you all got.”
He studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then a slow smile spreads across his face. “Holy shit. You did get laid.”
“Fuck off, Blackwood.”
“You did!” His eyes widen with delight. “That's what this is about! You're all twisted up over some hookup.”
I step closer, lowering my voice to a dangerous whisper. “You're on thin fucking ice. We are not friends and I will bench you and Astor for the rest of the season.”
Instead of backing down, he laughs. “Man, she must have been something special to get you this worked up. What was she, a puck bunny? Sports journalist? Please tell me it wasn't one of those equipment reps with the fake tits.”
My hand shoots out before I can stop myself, grabbing the front of his jersey and yanking him forward. “I said, fuck off.”
Something in my eyes must finally get through to him because the amusement fades from his face. “Alright, alright. Jesus.” I release him, and he straightens his jersey. “But seriously, Coach. You need to get your shit together. The team can't handle another practice like this.”
I know he's right, which only pisses me off more. “Go shower. You smell like ass, and your ‘bestie’ just walked in with some guy.”
He stiffens, his entire body locking up before skating away, leaving me alone on the ice. I stand there for a moment, the cold seeping through my clothes, the familiar scent of the rink—ice and sweat and rubber—filling my lungs.
This is my sanctuary. My domain. The one place where I've always been in complete control.
Until now.
Now all I can think about is her. Hennessy fucking Vega, with her perfect breasts and that smart mouth that tastes like candy canes and sin. The way she pushed and pushed until I snapped. The way she took everything I gave her and begged for more.
“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand over my face. I need to get her out of my head before I lose my goddamn mind.
In the locker room, the players are already showered and changing, the usual post-practice chatter subdued. I head straight for my office, not in the mood to deal with any of them.
