Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

Now he’s calling me out on it though, and being found out is scary, but losing this? I’m terrified I’m screwing it up, but I don’t know how to balance a secret relationship and show Ezra he means … something, all while not drawing attention. Because Ezra has enough people in his life devaluing him, and for maybe the first time since I met him, I don’t want to be one of those people.

“What’s up?” Ezra asks. “You have that look on your face like you’re trying to think. I wouldn’t waste my time if I were you.”

I pinch his calf. “I didn’t know I was ignoring you or making you think I thought less of you. So …” This is actually difficult for me to say to anyone, let alone Ezra. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you saying you don’t think less of me?”

I want so badly to joke—say something like I don’t think any less of him than I did before, which isn’t saying much—but there’s something about the vulnerability in his eyes that makes me think he needs the validation from me.

And for some reason, that makes my chest warm and fuzzy. I want him to want validation from me. It scares me because we might be besties, but Ezra doesn’t do serious—not even with West—and if I let myself get carried away with this thing, I’ll end up getting hurt. So I tell him the half-truth.

“I don’t want to fuck with the team, and I think being friends—proper friends—might do that.”

His face falls. “Sure. I get it.” Ezra goes to climb off the bed, but I grab his wrist before he can walk out.

“I don’t think you’re less than,” I say. “And I don’t want to treat you like shit.”

A hint of amusement starts to come back to Ezra’s face. “Seems simple to me, then.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” He leans down to kiss me. “Don’t.”

Nineteen

EZRA

I shouldn’t have brought up the friends thing with Anton. I don’t know why I even care. I never have before.

Maybe asking for friendship on top of what we’re doing was premature, but all I know is his annoying traits—his ego, his condescension, all the things I used to hate—I don’t hate anymore. Because I know it’s Anton’s way of protecting himself.

From scrutiny, from the media finding out about him, from every little thing. I understand it, I really do, but I thought …

I guess I thought after all this time that he might see me for who I really am too.

Anton’s buzzer for the door sounds, and he taps my leg. “Food’s here.”

I head out to the kitchen when Anton says the guy’s gone. I could have pushed for him to at least let the delivery guy see me, but we should start small. Team first. Then random strangers.

“Want me to set the table or anything?” I ask.

“Nah. Let’s eat in front of the TV. Montreal’s playing Columbus tonight before coming for us tomorrow.”

“Back-to-backs. Sucks for them. Good for us.”

“We’ll have our turn next month.”

“Fun times.”

We pile up our plates with food and cross to Anton’s living room, where he sits on what looks like a very new, very beige couch.

I choose to sit on the floor in front of him and put my plate on the coffee table because I don’t trust myself not to ruin his expensive—albeit somewhat boring—taste in furniture.

Anton turns on the game while we eat, and I can tell he’s doing exactly the same thing I am: assessing the competition we’ll be facing tomorrow night.

“It’s bad karma to wish a broken ankle on Foster Grant, isn’t it?” Anton asks.

I almost choke on my food. “I can’t believe that came out of your mouth. Mr. Nice. Mr. Good Guy. Mr. I’m So Charming to Everyone but Ezra Guy.”

“I save my salty side for you.”

“I feel … special?”

“You should.” Anton winks at me and leans forward. “Look at him though. When he came in as a free agent, everyone said he wasn’t going to last. He ended up having the best rookie season I’ve seen in years, and he hasn’t slowed down since. We’re going to have to watch him.”

“Or break his ankles.”

“Hey.” Anton points his chopsticks at me. “That is bad karma. I was joking. Mostly.”

“He’s part of the queer collective too, you know. He’s a good kid.”

Anton looks down at his food. “Yeah, I read that about him.”

“I think he has the right balance between flaunting it and staying private. He’s known for being queer, but his partner is really shy and introverted, so they’re not seen out together much, and no one in the media seems to care.”

Foster scores a goal, but Anton’s attention is no longer on the TV.

“I don’t think I’m scared of the attention,” he says. “I just don’t want people to define me and jump to conclusions.”