Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

Ezra smirks at me—nothing new there—but for some reason, that one look cuts through some of my faux confidence.

Then the music starts, Ezra lifts the microphone to his mouth … and from the first note of “tonight,” I immediately regret all life decisions leading to this moment.

Ezra. Is. Incredible.

He nails the opening lines, with all the ease of Freddie Mercury himself, and as soon as the beat kicks up, he lets loose. I watch Ezra own the stage, completely stunned and barely remembering to sing along. How didn’t I know this about him? How didn’t I know that he had a voice like sex and the moves to back it up?

He hits the high notes, all high energy, and I shift to ease some of the pressure behind my fly as my dick starts to perk up again. I hate Ezra, but my cock likes this side of him.

He’s so … free. So in the moment. Every decision I make comes with a list of pros and cons attached, even now. I lean into the performance, but not too much. Not enough to draw any kind of speculation that Ezra and I are anything more than rivals on the ice. Ezra doesn’t look like he has a concern in the world.

The next chorus, he catches my eye and starts to strut across the stage toward me. The lights, his messy hair, the unbuttoned shirt, and that sexy fucking strut … I’m close to giving in and watching him, but like hell am I going to let Ezra beat me at anything.

So when Ezra turns and presses his back to my chest, arm thrown back around my neck, and starts grinding up against me, I grab his hip and reposition the microphone so my lips graze his ear as I sing. His ass fits perfectly up against my cock, and there’s no way he can’t feel my erection rubbing against him. The only thing stopping me from pulling away is the complete confidence that he’ll be hard too.

I’d wanted to show him up, but when he lets go of me to take center stage again, the filthy look he throws back at me makes it obvious I failed to do anything other than stroke his ego.

By the end of the song, all eyes are on him as he builds and builds, nailing every note, thrusting his hips to the beat in a way that keeps drawing my attention to his ass. The music finally slows, and Ezra makes his way back toward me, singing through those last few notes, until we’re face-to-face, noses almost brushing as we finish the song.

He holds my gaze like he’s waiting for me to back down, and even with a voice that incredible, I refuse. He already looks cockier than I’ve ever seen him before.

Which is saying something.

But after that, he has a reason to be.

The bar goes nuts with applause, and when he turns to take a bow, I pretend to good-naturedly applaud him along with everyone else before exiting the stage.

I catch Ezra’s eye and make sure he sees me duck down the hall leading toward the bathrooms, because after that I don’t trust myself to face him in front of our teams.

I’m vaguely worried he’ll find the guy from before and ignore me, but Ezra rarely gives up a chance to gloat, and after that, he’s going to be preening like a goddamn peacock.

The sane reaction would be to put distance between us, but there’s this need building in my gut to take all that energy he had on display and redirect it toward myself. After that performance, I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in this bar wants him. Which makes me more desperate for him to follow me.

Sure enough, barely two minutes later, he rounds the corner, huge grin stretched across his smug face.

“I thought that was supposed to be a duet?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“Yet as usual, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be a complete show-off.”

“Tell me I was great.”

“I will never say those words. Ever.”

“Lucky I don’t need your validation, then. Too bad for you the slapped-monkey look on your face gave you away.”

It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. “Humble as ever, Palaszczuk.”

“Who needs humble when I can sing like that?” He advances on me, and when I step back, I hit the wall. “Admit you thought that was hot.”

There’s no way I can deny it. “Fine. That was sexy as fuck. My dick couldn’t decide what it liked better: hearing you sing or the way you moan when you’re impaled on it.”

His tongue darts out to lick his lips. “You’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?”

“The way someone might remember a nightmare,” I answer dryly.

Ezra laughs. Presses closer. If anyone needs to piss, it’s going to be very hard to explain this away.