Page 4 of Press Your Luck

He shrugged at me. “Sex is a motivator.”

I imagined Naomi doing shuttle sprints in lingerie. It occurred to me that she had to have some spectacular stamina as well.

Jesus fuck. Would this woman ever stop haunting my libidinous mind?

2

Naomi

Iwatched from the players’ box as the team scrimmaged. We were focused on an offensive that I was actually pretty happy with, except for Big Ed Sampson, who was nowhere near where he needed to be. As Max made his shot across the ice, Big Ed didn’t arrive on the spot in time and the puck hit the wall, ricocheting straight to the defense, which took control of the puck and immediately took it to the other end of the rink and into the goal.

I blew my whistle. "Everyone, come over here."

I wondered if my voice was sharp as several of the players looked at each other like children on the playground about to be scolded.

The first to skate up was Max Blake. "Sorry, Coach, I should've checked where he was."

I nodded because it was true, but at the same time, Ed should've been a position. I honed my gaze on Big Ed as he took his time joining us. The guy was like a petulant child in a giant's body.

"Is there a problem with the play, Ed?” I asked, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. Ideally, I would've loved to have been a coach like Ted Lasso, but I lacked the optimism and patience. Still, I did my best to be positive with the team.

Before Ed could respond, Dylan Katz, said, "Is it your age or that beer gut catching up to you, Big Ed? You too slow to do the play?"

Big Ed scowled at Dylan. "You shut your mouth, fuck face."

"If you're not slow, Big Ed, then why weren't you in position?" I asked.

There was a snicker in the group as one player leaned over to another, insinuating that I meant slow mentally, not physically. I shot them a quick warning glare and they straightened up.

"I don’t need some teenage girl telling me how to play hockey. I’ve been playing as long as you’ve been alive.”

“If that were true, you’d be too old to play.” I was young for a coach, but Ed was only a few years older than me. He was still in his prime and could move up to the NHL, maybe. But it wasn’t like he had a lot of years left to achieve that goal. Not very many hockey players made it to their mid-thirties. Many retired before they even got to thirty, like Bo Tyler. Of course, in my opinion, he probably could've eked out another couple of seasons, but apparently, he'd decided to settle down and go into coaching.

He, along with Pierce Jackson, a hockey legend in his own right, were coaching our rival team located only about twenty miles away in Las Vegas. There were a lot of questions about whether Nevada could support two minor-league hockey teams, so it was important that the Silver Nuggets come out on top if it turned out the state wasn't interested in two minor-league teams.

"Didn't your mama teach you any manners?" Max said, shaking his head at Ed.

"Ed doesn't have a mama. He was raised by wolves,” Dylan said.

Ed glared at them both but then turned his steely stare back on me.

"You can all go hit the showers. Big Ed, I'd like to have a word with you."

Big Ed earned his name. Being close to six-foot-four and the size of a linebacker, he was an intimidating force on the ice. That might've been enough to make him a great hockey player, but he also had the skills. He just wasn't using them with me as his coach.

"How old are you, Big Ed?"

He grunted at me. "None of your damn business."

He was hovering over me, trying to use his size to intimidate me, but I wasn't easily intimidated. "The reason I ask is because you're acting like a petulant child out there on the ice. Seriously. You’re a grown man.”

His eyes narrowed more menacingly.

"I'm just curious whether you resent me more than you wish to go up to the NHL? Or win a game? Because I'll have no problem benching you if you're going to be an asshole all the time."

He leaned over, and while my heartbeat picked up, I kept my expression passive.

"You won't bench me because you can't win without me."

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