Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

Then I strip off my pads down to my base layer shirt and pants and start to whistle as I jump on a bike to cool down. My muscles are extra tight tonight, so I need to make sure they’re stretched out enough that they don’t seize up tomorrow.

We’re about to hit the road for eight days to play Dallas, Arizona, Vegas, and Colorado.

And when a string of Polish curses hits my ears as Ezra finds his present, I have to laugh into my sweaty shirt so he doesn’t know it was me.

Though I guess it’s a given because he storms into the workout room and throws it at my head.

“What? Stuffed animals are bad luck too?”

He glares one more time before stomping out again.

Eleven

EZRA

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.