Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys Book 1)

WE LOSE TO DALLAS 3-2, and I know exactly who to blame. We hit the locker room with the same air of defeat that always lurks when we lose, but on the bright side, I played so badly, there’s no way the PR team will want me for interviews.

“Still think your present was funny?” I ask Anton as we strip out of our pads.

“Come on, Ez. It was a gift from a fan. It has nothing to do with why you fell on your face more times tonight than your entire season last year. That was all you and your talent.”

I want to wipe the cocky expression off his face. “You do know which team you play for now, don’t you? We’re supposed to be getting into the other team’s head, not our own.”

“All of this because of a stuffed toy? Superstitions aren’t real.”

Half the team gasps.

Finding a hockey player who doesn’t have at least one superstition is like finding a unicorn in your backyard.

“Even if you don’t believe in them, you have to believe in routine. Anything that throws that off has the potential to hurt our game.”

Anton purses his lips. “Fair point.”

“Now I need to go fuck all this bad juju out.”

Larsen, who’s next to me, shudders. “We promised no talking about our sex lives. I don’t even want to know what juju means in the gay world.”

“It means exactly what it sounds like,” I say. “Lots and lots of cu—”

Larsen covers his ears. “La, la, la, la, la.”

I turn back to my cubby, but Anton’s closer to me now.

He steps into my space and lowers his voice so the others can’t hear. “And who are you planning on fucking this out with?”

I slap his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on begging tonight. I need to mix it up. Dallas has one of my all-time favorite gay bars. Nothing like fucking a little sin out of some pent-up, sexually frustrated religious type.”

I don’t let him respond before I head for the showers.

If I was honest back there, I would’ve said I planned to do it with him, but it’s true I don’t want to beg tonight. My ego took enough hits on the ice. I want to be the one in control, and there’s no way Anton will give that to me.

He still doesn’t trust me, let alone like me enough to go there.

Plus, I’m starting to … I don’t know. The thought of leaving here with him is too easy, and I’m not falling into that trap.

That’s what happened with West, and then before I knew it, he had feelings for me, and I unknowingly hurt him. I don’t want to hurt Anton—no, I don’t want to hurt anyone like that. My sex-life works for me because feelings never get involved.

Some of the guys are heading out for a late dinner, some are going to bed, but as soon as I drop my gear back to my hotel room and grab a condom and lube packet from my luggage, I’m out the door and calling a cab.

It’s a short drive to the Circle, but as soon as I walk in and catch sight of all the thirsty-ass guys in here, something’s … off.

There’s no other way to describe the ick feeling in my gut telling me I shouldn’t be here. I push through it and go to the bar to order a drink. Or six.

As I sip my bourbon, I spin on my stool and lean back against the counter so I can scout for potential hookups.

I like this place because the lighting is low, and the atmosphere is laid-back and not as hyper as a pure hookup bar. The dance floor isn’t a bump-and-grind kind of space but has actual line dancing, but if I do want to bump and grind against someone, there’s a room out the back where you can go to get your rocks off. Names don’t even have to be exchanged if you don’t want to.

A few guys walk past me, eyeing me from head to toe. I lean back, stretching my long torso for them to get a proper look.

Being a famous athlete, I should be careful about who I spend my nights with. Many times I’ve ended up on trashy sites looking messy with a cute guy in a club. It’s not ideal when that happens because while the league frowns upon it when it comes to straight guys being photographed in different states of undress with women, they really hate it when it’s photos of two guys being splashed all over the internet.

Double standard, yes, which is why I don’t cover my face by wearing a baseball cap—my own little act of rebellion against the flawed system—but at the same time, I try to make sure whoever I hook up with won’t exploit me for it.

I turn and order another drink, but when it’s placed in front of me, the bartender’s hand lingers, and our fingers brush against each other.

He’s new, or at least, I don’t remember him from any of the times I’ve been here. I would’ve remembered the mane of curly blond hair and bright blue eyes.

“You look familiar,” he says, “but I know I haven’t seen you in here before.”

I eye him in the cocky way I always do when I flirt. “Sports fan?”

He screws up his face. “Hell no.”

I laugh. That’s one trait I look for in a hookup. If they’re a fan, they’re more likely to document their experience.

“Maybe you just want to recognize me, then.” I wink.

He looks at his coworker who’s busy at the end of the bar and then leans in closer to me. “I’m not supposed to hit on customers, but my break is in twenty, and you’re gorgeous.”

I lick my lips as a prickle of doubt shoots down my spine.

On paper, he’s the perfect candidate. Needs to be secretive because he’s not supposed to fuck customers. Doesn’t know who I am. Hot. He’s definitely hot.

Then why don’t I want to jump his bones?

“Thanks, but I’m—” A hard presence presses against my back.

I know who it is without having to turn around, and I light up from the inside.

The bartender retreats. “Ah. Got it. No problem.” He nods down at my drink. “That one’s on me.”

I try to school my face before I turn around, but Anton’s large hand grips my hip.

His breath hits my ear as he leans in and says, “The bar is mirrored, dumbass. You can stop looking so smug now.”

I meet his eyes in the reflective glass, and he is the type of famous athlete to hide his face with a cap. The dark scruff on his jaw makes it appear more square than usual, and I want to feel the roughness on my skin.

That ick feeling disappears.

“I told you. I’m not in the mood for begging.”

“Then don’t beg.” Anton takes my hand and pulls me toward the back of the club where that dark and private room is. He moves like he’s on a mission, and that’s when I realize something.

“You’ve been here before,” I say over the noise of the club.

“Duh. It’s discreet. Unlike certain bartenders.”

“Careful. That sounds a hell of a lot like jealousy, but that can’t be right.”

There are some other guys in the room when we get there, but it’s practically pitch-black, so it’s hard to see anything.

Anton pushes me against a wall and presses his hard cock against mine. “Let’s get one thing straight. This has nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with not wanting to get an STD panel done every time we hook up.”

An unwelcome gasp parts my lips. “Are you saying you want to regularly fuck me? I think you might like me, Hayes.”

“See, I think I might be starting to, and then you open your mouth. But yes. I want this to happen again. I want to keep doing it until I no longer have the urge to shut you up by sticking my dick in you. However long that will take.”

My smile is almost painful. “I dunno. I am really annoying.”

“I’ve noticed.” Anton reaches between us and pops the button on my suit pants.

I ditched my jacket back at the hotel and rolled my sleeves up on my shirt so my biceps bulge. Those babies have gotten me more hookups than I can count, so I always try to show them off. But Anton’s muscles are just as impressive, and I can’t help gripping his arms while he works open my fly.

When he gets it undone to the point he can take me out and wrap his fingers around me, my whole body thrums in anticipation, but his touch doesn’t come.

“I only have one stipulation …”

The word anything almost falls from my mouth, but I hold it back.

“I’m not going to be your side toy like Westly Dalton was. I don’t share.”

I knew I wasn’t going to like it. “Now, that sounds like commitment, and—”

“You can fuck whoever you want once I’m done with you. This isn’t about being together. It’s about being able to enjoy each other without worrying about where you’ve been. That guy out there looked like a walking petri dish.”

“There’s a difference between playing it safe—which I encourage—and sex-shaming. I told you I’m on PrEP.”

“This is my only stipulation. Take it or leave it.”

I’ve never been good at focusing on one person, and I’ve never seen a reason to, but we both know this is only temporary. I’m sure I can keep my wandering hands in my pockets until Anton and I have this out.

“No more begging?” I ask.

“Not unless you want to.”

Fat chance. “You going to fuck me here, then?”

“I had another idea.” Anton drops to his knees and flips his hat so it’s on backward, and my legs buckle.

Anton Hayes is about to suck my dick. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about this because I have. A lot. I’ve been wanting to find out if Anton’s mouth is as talented as his cock.

Some guys are teases, drawing out blowjobs like they have all the time in the world to taste, suck, and slurp all over your dick. They try to make it into a work of art. And sure, that can be hot as hell, but sometimes you really need them to get to business.

It shouldn’t surprise me that Anton is the other type—the type who can go straight to deep-throating you while tugging on your balls to the point you’re on the brink of coming after ten seconds.

“Holy fuck.” My head falls back and makes a thud against the wall, but I don’t care.

He takes all of me to the root, his nose buried in my groin while his throat works around the head of my dick, and when I pull out halfway so I can thrust back inside, he takes it easily.

Had I known how good he was at fucking and sucking, I might have made the effort to put aside our differences a long time ago.

I keep going with shallow thrusts, enjoying the buildup while cautious of how much he can take, but like me, Anton must get impatient with blowjobs because he stops playing with my balls and reaches around to grip my ass. He sets the pace and depth, and damn it’s an impressive depth. I briefly worry about breaking his nose with my pelvis, but that thought disappears when his hand dips into the crease of my ass.

The second the pad of his finger presses against my hole, I unleash inside his mouth.

I try to hold back the moans I usually let go of while I come because I’m conscious of others in this space, but holding out means the sounds that come out of me are desperate and strained.

When I’m spent, I tap Anton’s shoulder and sag against the wall. He stands, looking as smug as ever, and then he grips my shoulder tight to push me down.

“Need to … Breath … can’t catch,” I say.

“Trust me. This will be fast. Open up.”

I lazily open my mouth and let him inside, but unlike him, I’m too blissed-out and recovering from that monster of an orgasm to really put in any effort.

Anton doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t force it on me either. He pushes about a quarter of the way inside, and I manage to swirl my tongue around the tip. Then he keeps his thrusts small and shallow while he takes his hand and strokes himself.

I’m on the floor, cock still hanging out of my pants, while he uses my mouth to get himself off.

He leans forward, putting his hand on the wall to hold himself up while he takes his own pleasure from me.

This might be even hotter than doing it myself.

“Will you swallow?” he grits out, and I give a small nod.

When he does come, his thick thighs quake, and I grip them tight as if that can help hold him up.

I regret our road head incident not ending like this, with my mouth full of his cum, but I can say it was worth the wait. I swallow him down, drinking him in, and then a second later, his cock slips from my mouth, and Anton slinks to the ground next to me.

I lean over and wipe my mouth on his shoulder, and he laughs and shoves me off him.

“This probably isn’t the most sanitary place to sit,” I point out.

“True.” He puts himself away, and I do the same. Then he stands and holds out his hand. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”

The warm Texas air hits us, but we’re silent as we wait for a cab. I almost don’t want to ruin this with words. Almost.

I go to open my mouth, but Anton covers it.

“Shh. I didn’t think this was possible.”

“What?”

He removes his palm. “You. Being quiet for more than two minutes. It’s … peaceful.”

“I guess you know what you have to do to shut me up from now on.”

“Deal.”

We lock eyes, and for the first time, he doesn’t seem to be looking at me in annoyance or lust.

“Think you’re going to be able to keep up with me?” I ask. “If I’m not allowed to hook up with anyone else, you have to take care of my every whim.”

“I’m sure I can manage.”

Hmm, we’ll see about that.

When we get back to the hotel, we enter at the same time but are far enough away that it looks like we arrived separately.

He holds the elevator door open for me, but I turn in the direction of the reception desk.

“You go on up. I need to ask for extra towels. Kosik is a towel stealer.”

Anton smiles. “I never did trust that guy. Now I know why.” The doors close, and I beeline to the desk, where there’s a pretty receptionist.

“Can I help you, sir?” She overtly checks me over, and that’s how I know she has no idea who I am. She probably knows I’m with the team, but that’s it. Any hockey fan knows I’m gay.

I bring out my flirt A game. “Hey, I’m Anton Hayes. I’m here with the B’s? I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

“Anything, Mr. Hayes.”

“I want to wake up early to get in a workout before we leave for the next game in Arizona. It’s a grueling schedule.”

She nods sympathetically. “I bet it is. What time would you like a wake-up call? I can put it in the system.”

I pretend to think. “Four? Yeah, four a.m. sounds good to me.”

“Done. Four a.m. is a lot of dedication.”

“Thanks.” I give her a flirty wink as I walk away.

Just because Anton and I have decided to fuck on a regular basis, that doesn’t mean I don’t still owe him payback from that stupid cursed cat he left in my locker.

Happy morning wake-up call, jackass.