Page 16 of Press Your Luck

Obliging, I turned away from her, crossing my arms feeling safe that my dick would stay flaccid.

"Lean back against each other.”

I did my best to hide my scowl behind a smile as I leaned back until my shoulders were against hers.

"That's great." The photographers’ cameras went off, and several other people had pulled out their phones to take pictures.

"Okay, how about facing each other, like a face-off on the ice?"

When I turned around, neither of us had taken a step back, putting us in very close proximity. Her scent filled my nostrils, heading straight down to my groin. I shoved my hand back into my pocket.

"How does it feel to be coaching against one of the great legends on and off the ice, Coach Withers?” a photographer asked.

"Oh, will I be taking photos with Bo Tyler too?" she quipped, her smirk suggesting that she was pleased with the barb.

I gave a humorless laugh, hoping no one saw how deeply her remark cut through me. I considered making a snarky comment about her lack of knowledge in the history of hockey, but I anticipated she would respond with something that suggested that I was old or sexist.

"How about you, Coach Jackson? Most people believe you won your game against the Silver Nuggets only because Naomi pulled Ed Sampson from the game."

A few days ago, I gave a supporting comment about that move, saying I didn’t blame her considering how he’d been playing. But after her comment, I wasn't feeling particularly supportive or generous.

"Well, I suppose if Coach Withers and the Silver Nuggets would have beaten us if she left Ed Sampson in the game, then it wasn't a very good move to pull him, was it?" While my comment didn’t come right out and say her move was a bad bit of coaching, my comment definitely suggested it.

It was clear that was how she took it, as she glowered up at me.

"How has it been, Coach Withers, being a woman in a predominantly male-run world?"

She smirked up at me. "Well, I can tell you that women aren't necessarily better than men, but men are definitely worse than women."

So this was how we were going to play this?

"Do you have a response to that, Coach Jackson?"

I hesitated for a moment because while I felt like being a jerk, I didn't necessarily have to act it out.

Then again, Naomi was the one who was continuing this game of snark, so I decided I would keep playing. "Well, it seems to me that Coach Withers has adapted into the quote-unquote man's world really well. After all, she's become the clichéd boss dating one of her players."

I lifted a brow, indicating it was a checkmate. I knew I had won our little spar when her eyes glowed with fury. Her fists bunched by her side, and I imagined that if a photographer weren't there, she might've taken her best shot at clobbering me.

"So it's true, then, Coach Withers, that you’re dating Max Blake?"

Everyone around us went silent.

For a moment, she looked vulnerable. At that moment, I hated being the one to make her feel like that.

She swallowed. "That's not exactly—"

Right then, Max stepped into the frame. "Don't you all have better things to do? Are you all a bunch of gossip rags now? I thought you were interested in sports."

The area erupted with questions tossed out for Max and Naomi. She looked up at me. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by hate. If her eyes could shoot lasers, I'd be a pile of dust.

I gave her a smug smile, but deep down, I felt ashamed of my behavior.

10

Naomi

Pierce Jackson was the biggest asshole in the world. He just announced to the press that I was sleeping with one of my players. Maybe he didn't say it in so many words, but based on the reaction of the press, I knew that's what they were thinking.

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