Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

“Fine.” I know this kind of conversation is hard for him, but I’m not backing down. “My turn. I like how other people don’t get to you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Your turn.”

He hesitates, clearly needing to think about it.

“Wow,” I say. “I didn’t think it would be that hard to find something you like about me.” Because, ouch.

“Shut up, I’m trying to choose. Okay … I like … your hair.”

“My hair?”

Ezra nods. “Yeah, it’s soft.”

I hang my head back. “Well, fucking fuck. Slow down with those praises, Ez. Here I am thinking you’re fun and—” I glance around to make sure we’re not overheard. “—sexy. You always think the best of people, have a positive outlook on life, hate getting vulnerable, so when you do it’s—” I cut off. “Anyway.”

A long silence stretches and then, “I like … you,” he finally says.

“Me?”

“Hear me out.” He stares in the direction of my chest, avoiding my eyes. “I never thought I would. I always thought you were an asshole and had a stick up your ass, but now I know it’s because you put pressure on yourself to be the best. And I like being around you. You know more about the real me than maybe anyone.”

“There’s still a lot I don’t know. Like, a lot. What’s your favorite color? All-time favorite hockey player?”

“Red. It’s good luck in Poland. And all-time player? Me, duh.”

I’m grinning again. “Superstition and ego. I should have guessed.”

“Let me guess, your favorites are blue and Gretzky.”

“How did you—”

“They’re safe.” He gives me a knowing look.

“Okay, smartass.”

“This though—” His grip on me tightens. “—is not. Did you want me to hunt down Diedrich after this and force him to dance with me too? Take the heat off a bit?”

The fact he would do that, would even suggest it, sets off those jitters in my gut again. “Careful, Palaszczuk. I’m starting to like you too.”

“Oh no,” he gasps. “I take it all back. Everyone check out Anton with the fuckboy.”

“Stop.” I pinch his waist and lean closer to him. “I was wrong. You’re actually a”—I have to force the words past my throat because I mean them—“good person.”

He swallows. “I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before.”

“Because no one knows you like I do.” Instead of kissing him like I want to, I give him a small smile. “You’re my fuckboy now.”

“I should hate that, but … I don’t.” He lowers his voice. “I really, really don’t.”

I pull him closer than two friends would comfortably dance, half-terrified, half-high from the moment. From dancing openly with a man. Especially when that man is Ezra.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says.

I’m actually clueless, but I can deal with the fallout tomorrow. “It’s Thanksgiving next week. What are you doing for it?”

“Nothing. It’s the day after a game, my dad doesn’t celebrate it, and my mom … uh, yeah, let’s say we’re not the see each other for the holidays type. Usually Kosik and I go to Diedrich’s, but I think they’re visiting family in Quincy this year.”

“Well, I’ll be free too,” I say. “I won’t have time to go see my parents in South Carolina, and they only come to see me in summer when it’s not freezing up here, so …”

“So …”

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

His eyes shine in amusement. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Fine. Want to come over? I’ll cook us lunch, and we can watch the parade together. There’s a game the next day, so we need to have our mandatory pregame ritual, but otherwise, friends hang out, right?”

“They do.” I catch a moment of doubt passing across his face, but it’s gone before I can question him. “You’re on.”

Twenty-Five

EZRA

The annoying, obnoxious sound of the oven timer going off destroys my bliss.

We’re on the couch, and Anton is on top of me with my cock still in his ass. He’s slumped on my chest, breathing heavily as we both come down from killer orgasms. It would be perfect if it weren’t for the damn kitchen noises.

“Make it stop,” I whine.

Anton goes to move, but I grip his hips.

“No, don’t leave.”

He laughs. “Which do you want? For the noise to stop or to stay buried in my ass. You can’t have both.”

“Fine.” I release him.

He eases off my dick and stands. Fuck, I want to lick his cum-covered abs. I sit up and lean forward to do just that, but he steps away.

“You want the noise to stop or not?”

“What noise?”

It’s all but forgotten when Anton’s perfect body is naked in front of me.

He picks up his shirt and wipes himself down. “You go deal with the condom. I’ll deal with lunch.”

“Best Thanksgiving ever. Sex and food? You’re spoiling me.”

“Don’t forget the parade.” He points toward the TV and finally—finally—hits the button on the oven to turn off the noise.