Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys Book 1)

I’M jolted awake at way too early o’clock by the sound of the hotel phone.

“Wha’s happening?” Moreau says in his sleep, and I quickly roll over to answer.

“’Lo?”

“Good morning, Mr. Hayes. This is the wake-up call you ordered.”

I blink into the pitch-darkness of the room and catch sight of the glowing numbers on the clock. “Four a.m.?” My voice is gritty with sleep.

“That is the time you requested,” the bubbly voice says. “Enjoy your workout.”

She’s gone before I can question her further. I hang up the phone, completely confused.

Clearly, it wasn’t the wrong number if they knew my name and … workout? What’s going …

Fucking Ezra.

Extra towels. Sure. Right.

Asshole.

Moreau starts to snore again, but now my brain has clicked in, no attempts to fall back asleep work. I have a very good guess this is to get me back for the cat incident, but where that was all in good fun, this is cruel. He’s lucky the game is tomorrow, but we’ve got our practice skate at Gila River Arena later today. That isn’t going to be fun after a late night and an early morning.

Oh yeah, he’s going to pay for this.

An hour later, I’m still fighting sleep, so I figure I might as well do what she suggested and head down to the gym. It’s quiet, with only two other people there, one who clearly recognizes me by the way he trips over his feet on the treadmill.

I jump on a bike and put my AirPods in, hoping I won’t be distracted.

And even though it’s early, I’m humming with satisfaction.

Orgasms have a way of balancing out lack of sleep, and jerking off into Ezra’s mouth was one hell of a high.

My only regret from last night is shaming him about sleeping around. Random hookups are a fun time, but what else was I meant to say? That I’m a possessive motherfucker? I already told him I don’t share, which was close enough to the truth, but one of the main reasons I try to avoid anything serious is because it turns me into a spoiled brat of epic proportions.

My toys are mine.

I can only imagine the media shitstorm with them using my being gay as an excuse for my borderline possessive and unhealthy behavior. Sure, things are better for queer athletes now there’re a few of us in the NHL, but we’re still expected to toe that line of being gay while playing into het stereotypes.

It’s why Ezra gets so much attention for his antics.

We can be gay, but we need to either be in a committed relationship like Ollie Strömberg, or be a sweet, fun guy like Tripp Mitchell, or keep things out of sight and out of mind like me.

We’re not supposed to have a different guy in our beds every night.

We’re not supposed to be … toxic isn’t the right word. If he wanted out, I’d let him. But if I caught him with someone else while we were together, things would be unpleasant.

Westly Dalton might have been content to be Ezra’s side hustle, but there’s no way in hell that’s happening with me.

It’s not even really about the jealousy either. Once we end things, I’d be more than fine watching Ezra in a full-blown orgy without feeling a thing, but when I’m with a guy, I want to be the only one he’s thinking about.

And when things are cooling off, I’m the one who ends things.

My fear of rejection is way too strong to let anything else happen. It’s one of the reasons being traded stings so badly.

And maybe that’s part of why I don’t want to come out. Because no matter how much support is in the world, there will always be rejection as well. People will say cruel and hurtful things, and there’s no way around that.

By the time I’m back in the hotel room, I have a text waiting for me from Ezra, asking if I had a good sleep.

I chuckle, because game on, Ez. Is a wake-up call really the worst he can do?

It’s hot as balls in Texas, and Arizona is going to be no better, so after showering, I pull on a pair of sports shorts with the team logo and a T-shirt. Moreau is wearing the same.

“Damn, that game last night was a mess,” he says as we stuff all our things into our bags and leave. “Did you see Philly won five nothing?”

“I did. And I’m happy for them.”

“That could have been us.”

I understand what he means, and it’s a total rookie way of thinking. “But it wasn’t. I know it’s hard, the rejection sucks, and it’s even worse when the new team can’t get their shit together, but that’s our problem now. Trades happen, and we need to be able to adjust quickly, otherwise we’ll be replaced for good. You want to make a name for yourself? Focus. Forget about Philly, and show these guys you’re worth the money they’re paying you. There are worse jobs we could have.”

He chuckles. “That’s true. I feel like I’m doing so well, then I hit these roadblocks in my mind and can’t find a way around them.”

“All normal. No matter what level you’re at, they’ll still happen. You’ll just find better ways of figuring them out.” We get into the elevator, and I hit the button for the lobby.

“How do you?” he asks.

I picture Ezra on his knees again. Okay, so my ways of managing might not be exactly healthy, so that’s probably not advice I can give. “I remind myself of how lucky I am. I’ll buy something stupid because I can, I’ll find a way to give back—charity-type things but on the down low and not because I’ve been scheduled to do it—and when neither of those things work, I hook up. There’s nothing good sex can’t fix.”

The elevator opens into the foyer as those words leave my mouth, and it’s clear some of the team have overheard me when Larsen says, “I hooked up last night, and I already feel better about the game. Kind of.”

I refuse to look at Ezra, but I can feel him smirking in my direction.

Whatever. He already knows he’s a good lay … The blissed-out look on his face flashes through my mind again, and okay, maybe he’s better than good.

I’m determined not to show how tired I am as we head to the airport. When we finally step aboard the plane, I figure two hours is a good amount of time to sneak in a nap.

Until Ezra takes the seat next to me.

“You look like you could use some beauty sleep.”

I link my hands behind my head and turn to him. “I’m good, actually. Incredibly well rested. Best sleep I ever had.” I don’t even try to be believable because if Ezra calls me on it, he’ll give himself away.

We watch each other, both clearly trying not to smile and hoping the other person breaks first. But there’s only so long I can stare into Ezra’s pale blue eyes before my blood starts to heat. I cave first and avert my eyes.

Most of our team have spread out across the plane, some of them settling in to take naps, others playing on their phones, and most of them wearing AirPods to try and get out of their heads for a bit. Games like the one last night can stick with you if you let them, so like I said to Moreau, we need to learn how to bounce back fast. Arizona won their last game, so they’re going to be looking to exploit any weakness they can.

The only thing I can hear is low murmurs of conversation and our coaches discussing the game plan for tomorrow.

When I glance back at Ezra, he’s still watching me, only his gaze has dropped now. He’s taking in my long torso and spread thighs. I let them fall open wider to mess with him, but I can’t deny loving the way he looks at me.

I pull out my phone and type out a text to him one-handed.

Me: You look like you’re going to come in your pants.

He snickers as he reads the message. Then pointedly looks at where the outline of my cock is clearly starting to chub up.

Ezra: Hey, you promised last night you’d take care of these needs. Wanna join the Mile High club?

Me: No chance. You need to learn to be patient.

Ezra: Going back on your promise already? That’s cool, I know of a great gay bar in Arizona …

The growl that leaves me is completely unintentional. And Ezra looks delighted. His tongue swipes over his lips as he types out another message.

Ezra: I’ll never forget the monster dick I got there last time.

I pluck his phone from his hand. “And that’s enough from you,” I whisper to make sure we’re not overheard. The row in front of us is clear, and Diedrich looks like he’s nodding off behind us.

Ezra swoons dramatically. “The way he held me down and made me choke …”

“If you think I’m going to get jealous, you’re going to have to try a bit harder than that.” The last time Ezra was in Arizona, we weren’t hooking up, so I don’t really care what he got up to then.

“I thought about him last night while I was on my knees for—”

“Don’t.” The word comes out louder and harsher than I meant, and Kosik tilts his head from up the aisle toward us. I smile at him until he turns around again.

“Not jealous.” Ezra winks. “Got it.”

“You sure think a lot of yourself,” I say, voice pitched low again.

“I mean …” He shrugs. “If you were this awesome, you’d understand.”

“It really is a surprise your skates can hold up the weight of your head.”

“Which one?”

I laugh despite myself. “You’re really … something.”

“That’s almost a compliment, coming from you.”

“You know, I think it might be.”

This time when we lock eyes, some of the smug cockiness has melted away, and I get a glimpse of the real Ezra underneath. Not that cocky isn’t Ezra—it’s not really an act with him—but there’s something more there too.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

“Can’t guarantee I’ll answer, but shoot.”

“Why did you sleep with me that first time back in Philly?”

“Don’t make me give you more compliments. I’ll never survive it.” The truth is, he’s hot. I’ve always found him hot. That’s part of the reason why I notice all the dumb shit he does. And then when he was in my apartment, goading me to have sex with him … what was I meant to do when I had Ezra Palaszczuk at my mercy?

“Fine, then. Do you regret it?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes. Just one word. So easy to get out, but for some reason. It won’t come. Instead, I give him something like the truth. “Not as much as I should.”

He hums. “Yeah. Me neither.”

A moment of comfortable silence falls between us, which quickly turns uncomfortable. I’m not used to anything other than tension between us, so this … whatever it is, doesn’t sit right.

“Though I guess that’s easy to say when I blew my load less than twelve hours ago,” I say to fill the stifling quiet.

Ezra groans. “Twelve hours is forever.”

“Well, I hate to point out that you’re going to be waiting longer than that. We’re at the arena this afternoon, and Coach won’t let us out the night before a game.”

“Fuck.” Ezra relaxes back into his chair. “Why couldn’t they have roomed us together?”

“Probably a good thing. I don’t imagine our team would appreciate losing games because we’ve been up all night.”

“Oooh, as soon as we’re back home, we’re trying that.”

“Hmm, maybe.” I don’t have an apartment yet, and I’m not so sure I want to go to Ezra’s. It’s a good thing I don’t need to worry about that for a while because after Arizona, we still have Vegas and then Colorado to go.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I’ll be difficult to keep satisfied. You might as well move in with me now.”

“Can I ask you something?” I throw back at him.

“Umm. You know what, I take my question back. Let’s pretend like that never happened.”

“Ezra …”

“Fine. Same answer as you though. If I don’t like it, I’m not answering.”

“Fair.” I tap my foot as I try to think of how to say this. “Why do you do it? Not the sleeping around part—that’s whatever. But why do you draw so much attention to it?”

He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens again. I really didn’t think it was going to be that hard for him to answer, especially because he could throw out something Ezra-like and claim to be that awesome.

Eventually, he shakes his head. “Yep, I don’t like it, next!”

“Come on, I gave you something, at least.”

“Barely.”

Well, I can’t make him answer. But where I thought Ezra did it because he likes the attention, I’m starting to suspect I was wrong about that.

He folds his arms, sliding down farther in his seat. “It’s not on purpose.”

“What?”

He lets his eyes fall closed. “The first time pictures of me went up, they were a total shock. I hate it, but there’s not a whole lot I can do at this stage. It’s out there, so whatever. I try to be careful, but there’s no way to actually know if you can trust someone you’ve met seconds before.”

“Is that why you and West …”

“Yup. It was convenient for both of us, especially since we roomed together. He was—and is—the only person I trust.”

“And he was okay with you hooking up with other people?”

“Yeah, we’re not talking about this.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Ezra huffs. “You’re almost as annoying as I am.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes somehow.”

“There are far more fun ways to manage that.” I think the conversation is over when he turns away, but I catch him whispering, “He never told me he wanted more.”

I have to tread carefully here, but I need to know. “I have another question, and this one you have to answer.”

“I agreed to keep this thing only between us. I don’t owe you anything else.”

“You do, because the answer will determine whether I end it now or not.”

He’s clearly confused when he turns back to me. “You end it? Why are you the one who gets to call the shots?”

“Are you in love with West?”

He gapes at me. “Fuck off, Hayes.”

“Simple yes or no.”

“No. He wanted me, I didn’t know that, so I did some really shitty things not realizing I was hurting him. That’s why I’m no one’s forever—because I can never tell when I screw things up. I’m not in love with him, but I feel guilty for the way I treated him. Happy now?”

I shouldn’t be, but I am. “Very.”

“Whatever. I’m tired.”

“Like you’re the one who was woken up at four a.m.” I hadn’t meant to tell him that, but when his mood shifts back to the Ezra I’m familiar with, I’m glad I did.

“So much for that awesome amazing perfectly great sleep,” he says.

“You’re an idiot if you think I’m not going to get you back for that.”

Ezra’s grinning as his eyes fall closed again. “What are you going to do? Spank me? Too bad I’d like that.”

Well, I’m pocketing that knowledge for later. “You’ll see.”

Our game against Arizona is a tight one, but we pull off the win right before the buzzer, preventing the game from going into overtime. The end score was only 2-1, and we had to fight for every minute. I know the crowds love high-scoring games, but there’s nothing like taking out the win you truly fight for.

It would be even better if I could drag Ezra away for some hot sex, but Coach is still pissed from the game in Texas, and none of us wants to go out to celebrate with such a tight win and another game so close. Which means unless we find a stroke of luck, it’ll be almost a week until we can hook up again.

Diedrich and Ezra are called away for the press conference again, which means they’re entering the workout room as most of us leave it. The team strips off and heads for the showers, and as soon as they disappear, I have an idea.

Left alone in the empty locker room, I gather up a pile of sweaty clothes and stuff them into my bag. Then after the showers, I throw a couple of wet towels in there for good measure.

We’re heading out for a late dinner at the hotel when we get back, and as everyone enters the restaurant, I grab Kosik and pull him to the side. “You’re rooming with Ez, right?”

He narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“I could be persuaded to.”

“Okay, I’ll pay for your drinks and dinner if you accidentally drop your room key.”

“I’m not going to walk in on you guys fucking, am I?”

I stifle a laugh. “Fuck no. You know I can’t stand him.”

“Then …”

“It’s for a prank.” When he doesn’t look convinced, I add, “Harmless, I swear.”

“Okay, but you have to promise not to touch my stuff.”

“Hand on heart. Which bed is yours?”

“The farthest from the door. Ezra said something about windows? I don’t know. He has too many superstitions to keep up with.”

“Your stuff is safe.”

That gets him on board. “Better be a good prank.” He takes out his wallet, grabs the room key, and pretends to drop it as he walks inside.

I’m quick to swipe it off the floor and leave. Back in my room, I grab my bag, sneak down the hall, and swipe into Ezra’s room. His Nike bag is right beside the closest bed, and when I drop mine onto the mattress and unzip it, I have to hold back a gag.

Sweaty hockey players are disgusting.

I pull back the covers and dump the contents onto the sheets. Jerseys and undershirts, a pair of pads, and … oh shit, someone’s jockstrap. I use my foot to kick it toward the pillows then lay out the damp towels over it all.

The whole thing is going to smell ripe by the time we’re done with dinner.

Perfect.

On my way back down, my phone vibrates with a text.

Ezra: Should I be worried about where you are?

Me: Just taking a dump.

Ezra: Now there’s an image I can jerk off to later **eye roll emoji**

I chuckle as I tuck my phone away and stretch my arms over my head. I have a feeling that jerking off will be the last thing on Ezra’s mind by the time he gets back to his room.