Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys Book 1)

IT’S a relief when Coach calls Ezra away and I can unload my things into my cubby in peace. I’m unsettled, maybe even resentful, but I know this is part of my job, and I need to suck it up.

Clearly being a good player means nothing when it comes to a trade. Besides, the person I should be feeling bad for is Wagner. He’s only got a year or two left to play, and now he’s having to uproot his whole family because of this deal.

All I left behind was an apartment that I loved.

To be back in Boston.

I have so many mixed feelings about the trade. The first one is feeling disposable. The second is being back here, knowing my childhood home has been sold to another family, and my parents are states away. The food bank I used to volunteer at is gone, and I haven’t kept track of which friends from high school are still around and which have moved on.

I’m alone.

Which isn’t something I’ve felt before, even when I moved away to college, then got drafted to my first team.

These guys are Ezra’s, and fitting into that dynamic will take time.

Diedrich offered for Moreau and me to stay with him until we get settled, but I chose to go with the hotel option. Diedrich has a gaggle of children, and his family will have enough issues with one hockey player, let alone two. This will be Moreau’s first time living out of home since he was lucky enough to be drafted to his home team in Philly. That guy is going to have a lot of adjusting to do.

Kosik joins me at my cubby. “Anton Hayes.” His smile is huge. “You would have been my last guess.”

“You and me both.”

“How are you and Palaszczuk going to handle this?” I swear the locker room goes silent while they wait for my reply. I take it we’re not avoiding the elephant in the room, then.

“There are twenty other people on this team. I’m not going to hold one bad egg against you.” I throw them a wink.

There are some chuckles.

“You don’t need to worry about me though. I’m a professional.” Figure we should get a few things out while I have their attention. “I’m also gay for those of you who don’t know, but I assume that won’t be an issue.”

They hurry to reassure me it’s totally fine.

“Team rule though,” Diedrich adds. “None of us talks about our sex lives, okay? You do you, but we don’t need to hear about it. And you don’t need to hear about what we get up to.”

“Deal.” That’s more than okay with me. “Why do I get the feeling Palaszczuk was the reason for that rule?”

Diedrich rubs his neck. “Might have been, yeah.”

Ezra enters the room at just the right moment and cuts in. “Because I showed you animals how awkward sex talk is when you’re not into the things being talked about.”

“Yep, that.” Diedrich slaps my back. “Better suit up. I grabbed you some practice gear, and I have a feeling with you two joining, today is going to be an intense practice.”

Of course it will. Coming into a new team always presents issues, but a team with Ezra?

I meant what I said. I’m professional, and I’m not going to let this be weird. We’ll work together on the ice, and I’ll ignore him off it. There are twenty other people on this team I can give time and attention to. Some of them I’m already friends with.

So why, when we’re getting changed, does my gaze immediately travel across to Ezra. To his bare ass. And all I can think of is when he bent over for me.

So much for professional, Anton.

Even though Ezra and I have never gotten along, I didn’t regret sleeping with him. Until now.

If I’d known we would end up here, I would have shown better control. At the time, I thought I’d see him for a few games, maybe All-Stars if we had a good season, and then that would be it.

This rivalry-turned-besties story the press is running with is ridiculous, and it’s only going to get worse now we’re on the same team.

Our bromance is going to be put under a microscope, which will put me front and center of tabloid drama—the exact thing I don’t want.

Bromance. What a joke.

This narrative is easier to sell with us playing together though, and I wouldn’t have put it past the B’s PR to start that rumor in preparation for exactly this. I should have seen the trade coming days before I was told.

Nerves over being around Ezra add to the small seed of rejection from my old team, and the need to prove myself is all a bit too much. I’m known for being cocky. It’s a defense mechanism I developed from years of being a mediocre player. Fake it until you make it was my mantra in high school, and by the time I hit college, that confidence came naturally on the ice. But I’m struggling to bring any of that attitude out today.

Just as Diedrich predicted, the coaches keep us on the ice for far longer than usual. I get next to no downtime as Coach Stephenson tries to get the new first line working together. I’ve graduated from second line to first with the trade, so I need to prove that I belong here. Not only with the team but as one of the guys who get the most ice time.

It’s so different to Philly where we knew each other’s plays and tells inside and out. It was instinctual. Here, I’m working a lot harder to read the ice.

I grit my teeth after sending the puck sailing toward where Larsen should be but isn’t, and I try to hold back from letting my frustration show. These are usual teething issues that we unfortunately only have today and tomorrow to fix before our game against Jersey. This practice isn’t going well, and when I slip and glance over at Ezra, his expression confirms as much.

He doesn’t say anything, but the spark in his eyes is enough.

That, folks, is the great Anton Hayes … choking.

Nope. This is me. Still refusing to let him get to me.

Coach dismisses everyone except Larsen, Diedrich, and me. He makes us run drills for another half an hour before he’s satisfied, and by the time I get to the gym, nearly everyone has finished their cooldown.

I grab a bike and try to ignore the mild stiffness in my thighs from prolonged time on the ice. Even though things are familiar—the rink, the gym, a team—it’s completely foreign at the same time. Change is something all NHL players have to get good at, but it’s always been a weakness of mine. I love the thrill of the lifestyle, but I work better with consistency, in my own environment. It’s why I completely dominate at home games and have to work harder while we’re away.

I need to find that consistency again, and considering I grew up here, that shouldn’t be a huge issue. All I have to do is set up a routine, and I’ll settle.

In Philly, sometimes after practice, I’d sneak away to a shelter to volunteer. It would center me, make me feel like I’m contributing to the world, but I’d do a lot of the behind-the-scenes tasks because I don’t actually want anyone to know that I’m doing it. As soon as the media catch on to things like that, it cheapens the experience, and my parents always raised me to give to those less fortunate than myself. It was one of their conditions of paying for all my hockey shit. They’d see players like Ezra, who was born a prince of hockey because of his dad, so he had all the top-of-the-range equipment thrown at him. Me, I had to work for it. My parents could afford it, but their number one priority was teaching me humility.

The charity thing stuck with me because it reminds me of how privileged I am, so I continue to give back because it’s important to do something good for other people other than throwing money at the problem—though I do that too. I may not act like it on the ice, but I can acknowledge the world doesn’t revolve around me.

Unlike other people in my vicinity who think the sun shines out their ass.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice Larsen and Diedrich leave and another person enter the room until I catch sight of him in the mirror.

Ezra is leaning up against a wall not far from me, arms crossed as he watches me work out like he has all the time in the world. His hair is still damp from his shower, and he’s trimmed that ugly beard of his so that it’s actually sexy. Or maybe since sticking my dick in him, I find any small thing about him sexy.

I slow down my pedaling on the bike and come to a stop. “Yes?”

“Coach sent me to see if you were done yet. He wants to run through game tape of New Jersey.”

“And he sent you. Total coincidence, I’m sure.”

“Coincidence. Right. Fifty bucks says the coaches throw us together at all opportunities to force us to get along.”

“So you’re saying I need to get used to your ugly mug?” I grab my towel and run it over my face and neck. “Let me shower, and I’ll be out.”

“Sure.”

I’m halfway into the showers when I realize Ezra is still following me. “What are you doing?”

“Thought I’d come check you out like you were doing to me in the locker room earlier.”

Apparently, I’m not as subtle as I thought. “There you go being conceited again.”

“That’s how you’re going to play it? Would it really kill you to play nice with me?”

“I’m like ninety percent sure that would be detrimental to my health, yes.”

“Hmm, only ninety. I’ll get it out of you one day, then.”

I give Ezra a chance to leave, but he settles against the tile. Fine. It’s not like we aren’t going to be showering together weekly in the future, so why not start now? I strip off and hit the showers, keeping my focus locked in front of me and not on whether he’s checking me out.

Besides, there’s only so much attention I can give him when it’s taking all my restraint to keep my dick from getting hard.

“Anyway, we should probably try to at least get along. For the team.”

“Sure.”

“That was easy.”

I turn on the tap and step under the warm water. “What did you expect me to say?”

“I thought for sure there’d be pushback or a smart-assed comment or something. I’m beginning to worry the articles were right. Is this the start of a bromance?”

I cringe at the thought but cover it by lathering up with soap. “It depends. Are you still a douche with a big mouth who likes attention and fucks anyone who’ll have you?”

“Yes.”

“Then my feelings haven’t changed.” I duck back under the water to rinse off. When I shake the water from my hair, Ezra’s still there.

“Are you still an uptight asshole who expects people to live by your standards and not their own? You don’t need to reply, by the way. I already know the answer.”

I growl and turn off the shower before getting a towel and wrapping it around my waist. Being naked and close to Ezra is too much temptation.

When I advance on him, I swear there’s interest in his icy-blue eyes, but I am one hundred percent not going to acknowledge it. That will only encourage him.

“I’m not here for your games, Palaszczuk. We have a job to do. You stay on your side of the ice, and I’ll stay on mine. I got so close to winning the Cup last year, and I’m not going to let you stand in the way of me getting it this season.”

“You think I’m going to stand in the way? I’m hungry to win that Cup, and with you on the team, everything we’ve worked hard on in preseason will go down the drain.”

“Or with my help, you might make it to the championship game this year. But if that’s how you want to play it, how about you don’t worry about me, and I won’t worry about you.”

“Score for us the way you did for Philly and we’ll be fine.”

I let my gaze drop to run over his tight T-shirt. It really is a crime how hot he is. “We both know I can score. On and off the ice.”

And as I’m about to stalk off with the final word, Ezra hooks a finger into the front of my towel, gives it a tug, and watches as it drops to the ground. My half-hard cock is left on full display.

“I’ll stay out of your way, Hayes.” Ezra backs up for the door. “Remind your dick that you want distance next time you’re eye-fucking me.”

I scowl at his retreating back as I scoop up the towel and quickly dry off.

Sure, Ezra and I will get along.

The day he gets a personality transplant.