Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

“What do you need help with?” Dex asks.

“Getting back at Anton Hayes.”

Tripp groans. “Not getting involved.”

“I’ll do it,” Dex says.

“It’s official, Trippy. Dex takes your place in our group.”

“Woohoo!” Dex fist-bumps me. “So what are we gonna do?”

“An oldie but a goodie. We’re going to take all the furniture out of Hayes’s room and put it in the hallway. I need you two to help me move it all. Oh, and to get the room key from the front desk.”

Dex turns to Tripp with his big puppy dog brown eyes.

Tripp throws up his hands. “Fine. Let’s stoop to Ezra’s level.”

Dex puts his arm around Tripp’s shoulder and pulls him close. “This is going to be fun.”

Fourteen

ANTON

I stumble out of the elevator with the rest of the guys I went out with, pleasantly tipsy and ready for a good, deep sleep before the game tomorrow. I would have preferred to fuck myself into a coma, but Ezra wanted to play games, and now we’re both going to be unsatisfied.

Or at least, he better be.

Sniggers come from behind me a second before Moreau says, “What the fuck?”

I dismiss thoughts of Ezra and focus on the obstruction right in the middle of the hallway.

It’s … beds and chairs and desks …

“What am I looking at?” I ask, circling it, even as what I’m seeing starts to register.

“I think you’re looking at payback.” Kosik sounds way too happy about that.

My head drops back on a laugh. Ezra. I could kill him.

“Payback?” Moreau echoes, swiping into our room and confirming my suspicions. The whole thing is empty. “What did I do?”

“Collateral damage,” Kosik says. “I’ve been there, brother.”

“Help us get this crap back inside.” Unsurprisingly, my buzz is starting to wear off.

“Yeah, no way,” Diedrich says, sidestepping it all and continuing to his room. “You guys are on your own.”

“Larsen?”

“Nope.”

A muscle in my jaw twitches, and I grab Kosik’s shirt before he can walk away. “I’ll make this easy for you. Either help us, or Moreau and I are coming to your room and tonight you’ll be spooning two guys.”

He groans. “Why do I keep being punished?”

Moreau grumbles something under his breath as I grab a lamp off the pile and use it to prop the door open.

“What was that?” I ask him.

“I said we should make Ezra fix this.”

“There’s no way anyone can make Ezra do anything.” I drag a mattress up onto its side and nod at Kosik to grab the other end.

Instead of being irritated like I’d expect, I’m hit with unwelcome amusement. Damn Ezra is messing with my head. I should be annoyed, but if I know Ezra, and I think I’m starting to, there was nothing malicious about this.

It’s supposed to be a fun prank, so that’s how I’ll take it.

And how fucked in the head am I to be happy that this proves he spared me at least one thought while he was out with Tripp?

It takes us almost an hour to get everything inside and the room put back together properly. It’s late, and while I’m not pissed about the prank, I am worried about how a shitty sleep before a game is going to affect me.

Then again, I wasn’t so worried about that when I was making suggestions for getting another hotel room.

I tug off my tie, toss my suit jacket over a chair, and fall face-first onto the bed. I only mean to be there for a minute, but the next thing I know, I’m jolted awake by my alarm going off.

I’m still half-asleep when I silence it, then blink groggily at the bazillion notifications filling my screen.

What the …

I sit up as I swipe open my phone, trying to get my eyes to focus. It’s … a video?

I click on it, and Ezra’s social media opens.

The video is captioned: Welcome to the team. Total bromance.

I hit Play, and there’s me and Moreau outside our room, staring perplexed at the pile of furniture in the center of the hallway.

From the angle of the phone, Ezra’s clearly around the corner filming, and damn I wish I’d seen him there last night. All I can be thankful for is that I laughed instead of swearing up a storm.

The rest of the team joins him, and all I can hear are chuckles and hushed voices as Moreau, Kosik, and I start putting everything back.

The news sites are having a field day with it. Some of them saying this reaffirms the apparent bromance we have, and others say it seems like we’re trying too hard to be convincing and the rivalry is still going strong.

I close out of it all and text Ezra.

Me: You’re a dick.

I immediately regret sending that when his reply bubble pops up, and I know exactly what he’s going to say.

Ezra: What’s that? You’re obsessed with my dick?