Page 101 of Man Advantage

Coach exhaled a cloud of exasperated breath into the air, and then he pointed sharply toward the locker room. “Chats. Trev. Go shower and change, and then we’re going to talk.” He paused. “And if I hear that you so much aslookedat each other between now and then, there will be hell to pay, and bag skating will only be the beginning. Am I clear?”

“Yeah, Coach.” I picked up my gloves and stick and started my skate of shame. I fully expected Chats to be on my heels, running off his mouth anyway because he just couldn’t help himself. There were voices behind me, though. Angry ones.

Yep, running off his mouth. Just not at me. Whether it was at Coach or our teammates, I didn’t know, but I was grateful for a head start so I could calm down.

I tore off my gear and stomped into the shower. As the water ran over my head and neck, I closed my eyes and tried to will myself to chill. I was pissed, but I still had a game tonight—assuming Coach didn’t healthy scratch me—and I’d already caused enough headache for my team today.

I hated this. I hated that we were grown men, but my ex-husband’s boyfriend had dragged me down to his level and gotten me to snap, so now we were both going to get reamed out by Coach like a couple of kids. And what the hell? I’d been flying so high yesterday. So unbothered by that asshole’s bullshit.

I hated myself for letting Chats get to me. I hated that I’d lost my cool, and we’d clashed during practice. Fortunately, it hadn’t been open to the public since it was a morning skate at the host team’s arena, but there were reporters here. There werecameras.

By now, our scuffle was probably all over the internet. If Chats hadn’t texted Bryan about it, Bryan had probably heard by now through social media. I was terrified to even look at my phone when I got back to the locker room.

It’s going to get back to the boys.

Fuck. I let my face fall into my hands and groaned. Our GM no doubt knew about it, and my kids would know about it, andfuck my life.

The more I thought about it… the less I was bothered by the things Chats had said. I didn’t give two shits that he was with Bryan. If they made each other happy, then more power to them. It meant two less assholes in the dating pool to makeotherpeople miserable.

I had my kids. I had Cam. I had my career. I didn’t need or want Bryan, and I didn’t care what Chats thought.

I just didn’t like the constant juvenile shit that went above and beyond chirping. I didn’t like how this could fuck with my relationship with my kids, or how it could hurt my career or reflect on other queer hockey players.

Iespeciallydidn’t like getting called in to face Coach alongside Chats. But ten minutes after my shower, there I was, sitting there like a kid waiting to find out how much detention he’d be serving.

At home, Coach would’ve taken us into his office, but there was a small office used by away team GMs and coaching staff, and he set us up in there.

In the silent office, he glared at both of us. “The most pressing question I have right now is, can the two of you idiots play on the same team? Or do I need to have Eric start shopping one of you around for a trade?”

Oh fuck. We did not need the general manager getting involved.

“I don’t have a problem playing on the same team as him,” I said evenly.

“I don’t either,” Chats said, sounding perfectly media-trained and professional.

Coach’s eyes flicked back and forth between us. “So… why are we having this conversation? What exactly is going on here?”

Neither of us answered.

Coach huffed an impatient breath. “Is this about him taking up with your ex-husband?”

I winced. Then I looked pointedly at Chats.Hecould answer this one.

“It’s just chirping, Coach,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t think he’d take it that seriously.”

I pressed my lips together so hard I was surprised my teeth didn’t break through them.

Coach eyed Chats. Then me. Then Chats again. With a heavy sigh, he said, “Can I trust you two to put a lid on this particular brand ofchirpinggoing forward?”

“Yeah, Coach,” we both said. What else could we do? At least this way, Coach was giving Chats some rope. If I didn’t let myself react to any of his taunting going forward, he’d hang himself. Problem solved. I could do that.

And that was probably what Coach was angling for—some way for his grown-ass adult players to iron their shit out without him needing to seriously intervene.

Fine by me as long as the bullshit actually stopped.

Coach dismissed us, but I didn’t get far.

“Trev.”

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