Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys 2)

“You don’t follow her Insta account?” Graham asks.

“I didn’t even when we were together,” Dex says.

Graham takes out his phone. “It’s my job to know everything my players and their partners are doing at all times.”

He hits Play on a video of a smiling Jessica. She’s in a bikini, wearing sunglasses, and looks like she’s at a party on a beach somewhere.

“Well, it looks like the cat is out of the bag. I want everyone to know that Dex and I had an amazing friendship, but that’s all it was. He and Tripp are so cute together, and I’m so happy they can finally acknowledge their love publicly. And don’t you guys worry about me. I’m perfectly happy.” She wraps her arm around a toned male body, but when the guy lowers his head to the camera and smiles, both Dex and I gasp.

“Fensby?” I exclaim. He’s a forward on our second line and is always the first one to tease Dex about being dumb.

The video ends with them kissing, just enough to still be tasteful yet getting the point across.

“I’m so sorry, Dex,” I say.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the frozen screen. “I don’t care. I should … but I don’t.”

Well, I fucking care. Not only did she move on from Dex to another teammate of ours, she’s released a statement on social media confirming things she has no right to.

“She has basically given your marriage clout,” Graham says.

“Talk me through this. Our choices are for one of us to be traded so we can still ‘appear’ to be a couple but don’t need PDA or anything because we won’t live near each other anymore. Or to stay where we are and pretend this marriage is real,” I say.

“I think those are the best options to keep the backlash off of you guys and the team. If you want to tell everyone it was a joke, we can go that route too, but expect shit to blow up. Players have been hated for less. Fans will turn on you. Ticket sales could drop. Management could take it out on both of you.”

“Trade me,” Dex says. “This was my fault. So I should be punished.”

“Just wait,” I snap at him. “You said before you’ll do anything to keep us both with the team, but we haven’t heard all the details yet.” I turn back to Graham. “What would pretending to be married entail?”

“Living together. Going to dinners. Charity events. Team events. Not having sex with other people. Everything you see your other married teammates doing.”

I don’t make the argument that Appleby cheats on his wife at nearly every away game even though I want to.

I look at Dex. “That does sound like what we normally do anyway. We’re always at one another’s places, we go to team events together, eat … It’s us. Apart from the no sex with other people thing.”

“How long for?” Dex asks.

“A year?” Graham says. “Then you can both say that you work better as teammates and friends. Or the spotlight on your relationship from the media was too stressful and made it crumble. The longer you’re married though, the better.”

“Can you give us a minute?” Dex asks Graham.

Graham stands. “No problem. I’ll be in the backyard, making some phone calls. You aren’t the only two players in hot water.”

“Who else?”

“Jaycox went parasailing and broke his ankle on landing. He could be out for the first couple of games of the season. I swear all of you have pucks for brains.” He’s not wrong.

Dex is always teased for being dumb, but it’s not like any of us are much better. We’re just more articulate when it comes to explaining our dumbassery.

“It’s only one season,” I say.

“One season where we have to act like an actual married couple.”

“I can deal with that.”

Finally, his brown eyes meet mine. “Can you? Are you sure? I’ve already made your life ten times more difficult than it needs to be, and—”

“I missed you these last couple of days while you were avoiding me. I can’t lose you to another team. I’d be too tempted to let you score a goal every time I played against you.”

“I’d be the highest scorer in the league. Maybe I should take the trade.”

I shove him. “Good to know your points score is more important than I am.”

“Nothing is more important than you.” Dex runs a hand through his hair. “So … am I moving in with you, or do you want to move out to Summerlin?”

“I’m not moving into this house. It’s got bad juju all over it.” And that juju is Jessica’s decorating taste.

“All right, hubby. I guess I’m moving into the penthouse. Party time.”

“You’re in?” I can’t help smiling. “Are you sure you’ll be able to keep it in your pants for an entire year?”