Page 27 of Press Your Luck

“Can you honestly say you're sure she hasn't let the lines blur between business and pleasure as a way to get to you?"

I opened my mouth to protest but hesitated. Could I really be certain? I wanted to believe that what happened between us had been real, genuine, even if just in the moment. But the more I considered it, the more doubt began to gnaw at me.

Fuck. I hated the fact that Reed had planted that seed of doubt in my mind. But even worse, I hated myself for entertaining it. The anger simmered within me, threatening to boil over, and I couldn't tell whether I was angrier at Naomi, Reed, or myself.

"Look, I'm sorry." Reed laid a hand on my shoulder. "I don't want to cause trouble between you two. But you need to be careful. We're all here to win, and sometimes that means doing whatever it takes."

"Even if it means fucking the rival?” I asked bitterly. The hurt and betrayal were hard to swallow. If Naomi had just been playing me, then everything I thought I knew about her was a lie. She was a tremendous actress. If the hockey coaching didn’t work out, she’d find a successful career in Hollywood.

"Especially if it means fucking a rival," Reed confirmed, his eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and regret. "I've seen it happen before. And I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Too late for that," I muttered darkly, the weight of Reed's words settling heavily on my chest. I downed the two pills without water.

Silence fell between us, punctuated only by the distant sounds of hockey practice continuing without me.

"Thanks for the warning," I finally said, my voice tight with restrained emotion. "I'll keep it in mind."

"Good." Reed gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning to leave. "Just remember—in this game, sometimes you have to guard your heart as much as you guard the net."

As he walked away, I resolved to do just that. I had to protect myself from Naomi. I didn’t want to be seen as the clichéd older man fucking a younger woman. I didn’t want to be depicted as being a cuckold, although if she were with Max, I suppose he’d be the cuckold.

More than anything, I didn’t want whatever the fuck emotion was swirling around in my chest to become something that would break me.

I resolved to put my feelings for Naomi aside and focus solely on winning. Winning our games. Winning the championship. No matter how hard it might be, I couldn't let anything—or anyone—stand in my way.

14

Naomi

Aweek later, I dragged my feet into my apartment after arriving home from a game in Milwaukee. The weight of another disappointing loss hung heavy on my shoulders.

My team's performance had been less than stellar. I’d kept Big Ed in the game, even though he wasn’t playing up to his potential. Despite his antics, I couldn't help but feel responsible for the loss. As the coach, their failures were my own, and it was a crushing burden to bear.

Oh, sure, teams lost. But as a woman, our loss would be blamed on me, and probably rightly so. But it would be the fact that I was a woman that was at issue, not my coaching ability. Instead of moving women forward, I’d be setting them back.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind me at home, I slumped onto my couch. I sighed and pulled out my phone, hoping to distract myself from the nagging self-doubt bringing me down.

My thumb navigated the screen, searching for anything to take my mind off the game. Anything but reminders of how I hadn't been able to lead my team to victory. I skipped much of the news feed until I saw:

Coach Withers Canoodleswith Max Blake in Hotel

“What the hell?”I groaned as I continued to read the clickbait article. There was no truth to the story, but that didn't stop it from spreading like wildfire across social media. Of course, it wasn’t the first time the media had seen Max and me together and decided there was something to it. Just walking out of the rink with him made everyone assume there was something going on. It wasn't fair, but I knew there was nothing I could do about it now.

A blurry photo of the two of us laughing together at the bar accompanied the article. How had the paparazzi managed to spin an innocent conversation into something so scandalous?

As I scrolled through the comments, the heat rose in my cheeks, fueled by both anger and embarrassment. Why were people so obsessed with my private life? They should be focusing on our team's performance, not our nonexistent love lives.

I tried to remind myself that these rumors were just a distraction, but it was hard to let it go. With a deep breath, I forced myself to put my phone away and refocus on what truly mattered. My team, my career, and proving that I deserved my job. If I could win, I’d be giving them something else to talk about. So, with renewed determination, I got up from the couch and began planning my next move to coach the team to a winning season.

But first, wine.

I made my way to the kitchen when my phone suddenly rang. I looked at the caller ID noting that it was Todd. Nope, I didn’t want to talk to him. He’d either be upset at the loss or the gossip making the rounds, or both. But he was my boss, and it was cowardly not to face up to him.

"Hello?"

"Naomi, It's Todd.” His voice was excited. Not at all upset. "Have you seen the news?"

I groaned inwardly. "Yeah, Todd. I've seen it."

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