Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

I know a lot of the guys whine about having to wear a suit before and after games, but I like it. It makes me feel part of something bigger than me. Reminds me that this is my job, and I take it seriously.

If only the same could be said for everyone. My suit is navy and fitted. It looks great, but I made sure it wouldn’t draw too much attention.

Ezra’s? He has a whole collection of suits I wouldn’t be caught dead in, and today’s is a black and pale gray floral print. Pants and jacket.

“You look like my nanna’s garden,” I tell him on the way out of the locker room as he falls into step beside me.

“And you look like an usher. But I promise not to hold it against you.”

“How generous.”

“I can hold something else against you, if you like.”

I quickly scan the corridor and make sure all the journalists have left. Then I glance over at Ezra as he pumps his eyebrows at me.

Goddamn. “Like a grudge? Because that’s not new information.”

“I was thinking something more physical. Don’t make me spell it out for you, Hayes.”

“I would if I thought for a moment you could actually spell.”

Ezra steps close. He grabs my wrist, just two fingers, and it’s nowhere near enough to hold me in place, but my feet stop moving anyway. “Come on, this is bullshit. We worked well together out there tonight, but we can’t be in the same room without getting pissy at each other. I’ve seen you checking me out in the locker room—”

“I never—”

“We both know it. And the solution is, we fuck it out.”

“There’s no end to your ego, is there? I check you out, so what? Who says that means I want you?”

“Don’t you?” His eyes are issuing a challenge, and his fingers flex that bit tighter.

“Fine. Yes. There’s nothing I enjoyed more than making you desperate, and knowing that no matter how much you might hate me, I’m still the one who made you come.”

“How do you know I wasn’t thinking of someone else?”

I step forward, way closer than is safe in this hall where anyone could walk past. I drop my voice. “You think I missed the way you moaned my name? You loved it, didn’t you? That’s why you’re always bringing it up?”

I did too. There’s no denying that. Fucking him was hot as hell, and I can’t stop picturing doing it again. I want to shove him to his knees and feed him my cock, to bend him over and rail him again, to jack him until he comes so hard he goes cross-eyed.

“You have a talented dick,” he grudgingly concedes.

“Well, you know what you have to do, then, don’t you?”

“There’s no fucking way I’m going to beg you.”

“Fine.” I go to walk away when Ezra’s grip on my wrist tightens.

He tugs me back. His gaze darts between my lips and my chest, clearly conflicted. Finally, so quiet I almost miss it, he whispers one word through clenched teeth.

“Please.”

Nine

EZRA

I told myself I wouldn’t beg, and I hadn’t planned to, but that please fell out of my mouth without permission. I’m sure Anton’s going to use that one word against me for the rest of my life, and as much as I’d like to say using my manners doesn’t equate to begging, I can’t deny the desperate need in the way it came out.

Anton stares at me, and I hold my breath.

It’s a torturous two seconds before he wets his bottom lip and mutters, “My place. One hour.”

My lips curl, and I lower my voice. “Aww, you going to go home and get ready for me? Are we going to flip the other way this time?”

“Nope. I’m going out with O’Ryan for a drink. Maybe you should spend the next hour prepping that hole for me.” Anton walks away, and I have to reach into my pants and adjust myself before following.

I catch up to him. “Where are we getting that drink?”

“You want to come hang with the enemy?”

“Not the enemy yet. Regular season starts next week. Besides, if I’m there, I’m hoping we won’t make it an hour.”

I see it—Anton trying to contain his smile. He sucks at it.

“You’re going to be insufferable the whole night, aren’t you?”

“I’m so hard it’s uncomfortable.”

Anton glances at my crotch and then sighs as he takes out his phone.

“What are you doing?” I look over his shoulder and see he’s texting O’Ryan.

“Bailing on drinks.”

I tell myself not to be a smug bastard because at this point, anything could make Anton change his mind. “Uber?”

“I have my car. I went and picked it up during our downtime. Coach gave me permission to drive it up to Boston tomorrow instead of flying back with the team.” We head for the parking lot.