Page 43 of Ruthless Game

I turned to Asher. “Want to practice?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to pass out?”

I shrugged. “I do, but I’d rather make sure I’m ready for the game.”

Asher nodded. “Coach,” he called. “We’re headed back out on the ice to practice some more.”

“Good,” Coach said.

Back out on the ice, I faced off with Asher, me in the net, him stickhandling. He shot the puck at me and I caught it easily before tossing it at his feet; he shot the puck and I caught it again.

“Remember what I said about doing anything you could to achieve your goal? I think you’re letting feelings distract you.” He raised a hand before I could interrupt him, because what feelings? I didn’t feel feelings, not anymore.

As if disagreeing with me, my chest squeezed again.

I’d let that puck in when I’d thought about breaking Emma—and then moving on from her.

Fuck.

Maybe I did feel feelings.

“I don’t know how to stop them,” I admitted, swallowing all the anxiety around my lack of power down where it couldn’t get to me.

Asher shrugged. “The way I see it, there’s only so much blood flow. Direct it to your dick, and your brain won’t be able to work as well.”

I snorted. It wasn’t terrible advice. Still.

“Who told you that?”

“Who do you think?”

“Judah,” we both said at the same time and laughed.

“Okay, but seriously, man. What’s the trigger, and how do we deal with it?” Asher asked as he deked. I caught his play, moving to the opposite side of the net and grabbing the puck out of the air when he tried to shoot it past me.

“I don’t fucking know,” I sighed. “I thought this plan was going to work. I fuck her, I break her, I move on. Simple, right? But instead I made her cry, felt like shit, went over to her house and slept in bed with her all night. Fuck, the only time I can sleep is with her.”

I passed the puck back to Asher, who caught it. He stood there, thinking.

Finally, he said, “So then maybe being an asshole is making your game worse. Could you try not being a dick?”

I snorted. “I’m not a dick. Usually.”

“Usually,” he agreed. “But making a girl cry? Pretty dickish behavior. And it doesn’t seem to be getting you what you want. You loved this girl once, right?”

I shut my eyes briefly. I could see the engagement ring in my mind.

I opened them. “Yeah.”

“And she loved you?”

A worse image came to me then, one I’d tried to burn out of my brain for years.

“She acted like she did,” I growled.

Asher nodded sagely. “Anger. Anger is your issue, here. Deal with your anger, you’ll deal with your game. Hell,” he added as he skated in a circle and back toward me, “deal with her anger, and maybe you’ll get everything you want.”

“And what the fuck do I want?” I asked him.