I skidded to a stop near Gage. “Fuck, man is your shoulder okay?”

Gage ripped his helmet off, skating toward the bench. “Fine.” His sharp tone told me to leave him the fuck alone, so I did.

My stomach rolled during the end-of-game niceties. How the fuck had I just let that happen?

“Damn, Rory, what the hell?” Warren asked when we’d made it back to the locker room.

“I—”

“Jackson!” Coach yelled before I could get an answer out. He stomped toward me, and I straightened like he was a four-star general. “What happened out there? You leave your brain in the fucking clouds?”

“No, sir.”

“You hungover?”

“No, sir. I haven’t had a drop since last week!” I took a deep breath, clenching my hands into fists, so I didn’t snap. He had the right to be pissed. I’d gotten distracted and lost us the game.

“You better pray a story doesn’t come out about you getting smashed at a bar last night because I will bench you the rest of the season, do you understand? Own up to your shit before you even think about lying to me.”

I gave him one nod, holding my ground. It was the truth. I hadn’t even been to a bar since the night before the first charity gala I’d attended for Paige.

Paige. The guy. Fuck, that is what had distracted me. Even if for only a few moments, I’d been consumed by jealousy enough to cost us the fucking game. I needed to get a grip on my balls before I lost them.

Coach sighed, the vein throbbing in his forehead turning a less angry shade of purple. “Fine. Next time.” He looked at Gage and Warren who stood silently next to me. “We’ll get them next time.”

“Fuck yeah, we will,” Warren said.

“I’ll make sure of it,” I added.

Coach nodded before stomping back to his office, probably to break something. I hated that my temper was yet again almost costing me the only thing I was ever good at but fuck me it wasn’t like I could control it. I was trying and thought the deal with Paige was going to help. Not once did I think she’d have the power to exacerbate it.

“What happened?” Gage asked, his tone easier than it had been on the ice.

“I fucked up.”

“I get that. Again. But I’ve never seen you lose it in a game like that before.”

“I got…distracted.”

“By what?”

I cut my eyes to him before I wiped the sweat from my face with a towel.

“Um, Rory?” Warren pointed behind me toward the hallway entrance. “Towel boy says there is a redhead outside asking for you?”

Gage shifted his weight. “Do not fucking tell me that is Paige out there.” He pointed a meaty finger at the door, his massive gun flexing more than necessary.

Shit. “It could be any redhead.”

Gage’s jaw flexed. “Is it Bailey’s redhead?”

I patted my bare chest with the towel, chuckling. “Technically she’s my redhead now.”

He raked his fingers through his black hair, spinning so his back was toward me. “What the fuck are you doing, man?”

“At least it’s not your nanny,” Warren snorted, and I hissed. The look Gage flashed him was so not one I’d ever want shot at me. Warren raised his hands and backed away slowly.

“Explain,” Gage said, looking at me.

I shrugged. “Paige and I—”

“How is that even the start of a sentence for you?” Gage cut me off. “You don’t ever do, and I’s.”

“I do now.” Damn, I sounded defensive even to me.

His eyes trailed me for a second before something clicked and he burst out laughing.

“What?” I snapped after two minutes of straight laughing from him.

“You are so fucked, man.”

“How so?”

“You’ve got it bad. And for that woman? You know who she is right? Like, you know—”

“Yeah. I know.”

“And you know if you fuck this up it won’t just be you who takes the hit in the press. It’ll be on her, too.”

“Aware.”

He sucked in a deep breath. “I hope you know what you’re doing, bro. Because I swear if you hurt Bailey’s best friend, she’ll kill me just for being associated with you.”

“Got it. If I fuck up with Paige, there will be an entire mob of people coming after me. Check. Anything else, Dad?”

He slit his eyes at me. “Yeah.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Do yourself a favor and don’t fuck it up. Not for everyone else, but for you.”

I smirked up at him, opening my arms. “You want to hug this shit out, man?”

He punched me in the chest before flipping me off and walking toward the showers. I was covered in sweat and grime, but I didn’t want to keep her waiting outside the locker room door. Pushing it open, I found her leaning casually against the wall next to it. The tight jeans she wore tucked into a pair of flat, black leather boots only made her look that much more fuckable in my jersey. A slew of other puck bunnies hollered for me from across the hallway, but I only had eyes for one woman. That had never happened.

“You called?” I asked, my tone sharp from the bullshit of the game and locker room ambush.

She straightened, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I wanted to see if you’d be up for dinner after you were done in there?” She eyed the locker room. “Thought you might want to talk about the game.”

A muscle in my jaw clenched as I gritted my teeth.

“Or not,” she said. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have come.” She turned and took several steps away from me. It only took one quick reach to grab her and pull her back.

“Don’t. I’m just pissed about the game.”

“What happened?” she asked, her voice soft.

I rolled my eyes. “Fucking question of the day and you’re the answer.”

Her mouth popped into the shape of an O. “What?”

I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Who was that guy talking to you?”

She tilted her head, her eyes shifting from me to the side and back again. “You were watching me?”

“I looked up. You were there. So was he.”

“Wow. I honestly didn’t think there was a thing that could tear your mind from the game. I wouldn’t have come.” She shook her head. “Thanks for blaming me though.” She spun around again, stomping with more determination toward the exit.