16. Asher

I wasn't usuallythe type to frequent the library, especially not on a Saturday, but seeing how behind I was, coupled with the hard truth Coach had given me, it felt like time to apply myself. I could fit in a few hours of studying before getting ready for the match later. Ready to watch, that was, not play.

However, instead of studying, I was sitting in a quiet corner, sketch pad in hand, trying to get the image of a naked Winter DeLaurie out of my goddamn mind. The sight of her leaning back against the tile in the bathroom, giving me the fucking finger, had permanently seared itself into my brain.

No one had ever looked hotter than Winter DeLaurie when she was being a brat. Leaving her there had felt like a kick in the damn balls, but Coach's words from earlier in the week were still ringing in my ears. I couldn't afford to get distracted. My future NHL dreams were hanging by a thread. The last thing I needed was a complication like Winter, and yet, here I was, sitting at the library, filling page after page with pencil drawings of my own personal demon.

I'd drawn her naked, of course. The curve of her lower back, where it swelled out into that perfect peach of an ass, was a work of art all on its own. True beauty had been the assignment, and Winter was my muse. It was as clear as day. No one else would suffice.

My pencil flew over another sketch of her, this time focused on her profile. Inside her eye, I drew the tiny, detailed outline of a starry sky, just like that night when we'd smoked at The Dunes, right before she'd gotten me fired. Why was the enduring memory of that night the look in her eyes as she'd stared at the endless sky, and not the fact that she'd thrown me under the bus without a second thought? When had this obsession taken root? I couldn't deny at this point that it was exactly that. An obsession. A need to know where she was and who she was with. A need to see her smile or laugh. A drive to be the one who saw her home safely. The one who she called when she was upset or happy.

The man in her life.

Hadn't she been the woman in my life since that day last year, even if she hadn't known it? There certainly hadn't been anyone else in my thoughts, or anywhere near me.

It had been her.

My obsession.

But I didn't have time to waste thinking about a girl who had the world at her feet. I needed to worry about myself. I needed to train, to study, to work. Beating up some random dude following my mom, breaking his camera, and busting his mirrors would have gotten me in a hell of a lot of trouble if he hadn't been working for Winter. I had to get my shit together. This little obsession with the richest girl in town was dangerous, and like all things that are bad for you…irresistible.

Instead of putting down my sketch pad, I turned to the next page and started another drawing. Only my phone vibrating wildly on the table pulled me from the sketch.

Winter DeLaurie has tagged you.

What the hell?After our earlier game with the nude photo, I'd have thought Winter might back down for a little while. Of course, she was too competitive and stubborn for that. I unlocked my phone and stared.

A picture of Winter, wearing my jersey and jean shorts, lounging on a sofa, my name and number emblazoned across her back. Her caption read, "girlfriended up."

It was getting likes like crazy, and all kinds of emoji reactions. She'd fucking used the Hellions as a hashtag. #Ionlywearhisnumber

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was the opposite of what Coach had told me to do. My group chat started blowing up.

Beckett: Ash, you dark horse.

Marcus: Called it.

Cayden: Please tell me she's more pleasant than she looks.

Ash: No. She's much, much worse.

Marcus: Sounds fun.

Beckett: Good luck.

Ash: It's not true. We're not together.

Marcus: Still not? Why?

Ash: Because…she's the fucking Devil.

Marcus: Say less…she can lead me into temptation anytime.

Ash: …

Marcus: j/k. I know. She's yours to fuck (with). I remember.

Ash: Good.

An hour later and the damage was already done. Everyone on campus had seen the post. Dean Eastwood had liked it, for fuck's sake. Winter had claimed she could make everyone think we were dating, and I wasn't surprised she'd pulled it off. My girl was a winner. She didn't know how to be anything else. I'd be more annoyed if I wasn't impressed.

As soon as I got to the sports building, Coach Eric called me into his office. My belly dropped. It felt just like when Leonard had called me into his office after the rooftop pot incident.

Holy shit, this is it. First, she got me fired from The Dunes, and now she's getting me kicked off the Hellions. Forget playing games, I'm going to kill her.

"Asher, take a seat." Coach Eric pointed to the chair in front of him.

I stopped short when I saw the dean standing just behind the coach. Time felt like it slowed right down for a moment, like the seconds just before an accident, where your life flashes in front of your eyes.

"Yes, Asher, sit. We won't take too much of your time," Dean Eastwood said. He was smiling like a maniac at me. Was the man a sadist? Who could look so happy when they were about to dash someone's hopes and dreams?

"First of all, congratulations on your news. I saw it online. A new campus couple, a power couple, if you will…I thought it was interesting that Charles DeLaurie was so committed to getting you back on the ice, but it all makes sense now."

"Sorry, what?" I wasn't keeping up with this conversation, clearly.

"I mean, you and Winter. It's wonderful news. We can expect Charles and his friends to be attending Hellions games from now on, when they can, of course, they're busy men…"

"What the dean is trying to tell you that you're off the bench, as of now, if you're up for it."

My heart skipped a beat. I could only stare at them.

"Charles DeLaurie pulled a few strings in the federation admin, and they're waiving the restriction for the remaining time…You can get back out there."

I couldn't process what Coach had just said. He and Dean Eastwood started talking about the VIP boxes as I zoned out. I was getting back out on the ice?

"So, Asher? Are you playing tonight or not?"

"Yes, Coach, I absolutely am," I confirmed, standing and shouldering my bag.

"It might be rough on you…you've been out of commission for a bit," Coach warned.

I shook my head. "That's fine. I don't care if it hurts. I just want to get out there."

Coach grinned. "That's the spirit. Go raise hell, son."