Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

“You know me too well.” I roll out of bed and jump in Anton’s shower, and when I get out, I’m greeted with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Wow. Don’t outdo yourself.”

“Eat at the party. This is purely to stop you from complaining.”

I shove the whole thing in my mouth in under a minute. “Let’s go.”

“That was both horrifying and impressive.”

“I’m good with fitting a lot in my mouth, but you should know that by now.” I wink at him.

He doesn’t even fight me on that or call me ridiculous. I think this is what we call progress.

Anton’s relaxed on the drive out to Chestnut Hill, and I can’t help trying to make him crack.

“So, bestie …”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Bestie?”

“Well, we’re friends now. This is our friend date. And I have been looking for a replacement for West, so it all fits.”

“I’m not West’s replacement.” He pouts. It’s adorable.

“Ooh, do I sense a little jealousy there?”

“Not at all. I just refuse to be your fuckboy like West was.”

“You still worried about that? If it makes you feel any better, what West and I had was completely different.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one, we actually liked each other. Never fought. Always fell back on each other because it was easy. It wasn’t—” I slam my mouth shut because I don’t know what was about to come out of it.

“Wasn’t what?”

I struggle to find any word that describes Anton. “Intense.”

“You think what we have is intense?”

“You don’t? You have to admit our sexual chemistry is off the charts. You can go head-to-head slinging snark back and forth with me without even blinking.” I pause. “You challenge me to be a better player.” And a better person. But I don’t say that part even though I kind of like it. “It’s the opposite to what I had with West. He was happy to come along for the ride. He was easygoing.”

“Are you calling me uptight?”

“Are you arguing that you’re not?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. I need to give him a bit more.

“You see through my crap and pick up on things I don’t even like talking about. I hate it and … I don’t.”

His gaze moves slowly from the road to me. Something in his expression relaxes. “Of course I challenge you. I’m better than you at almost everything.”

I laugh, relieved and unsettled at how easily he reads me. “You wish.”

“Excuse me, but who’s having the season of their life?”

“Whose dick is responsible for that?”

“Here you go with your magic dick again.”

“I was thinking I should approach a sex toy company. Get my bad boy molded for replication. I’ll call it the Good Luck Fuck. Guaranteed to improve your game.”

Anton sighs instead of enabling me.

“Yep. We’re definitely besties. You don’t even call me on my shit anymore.”

“It’s because I know when I’m wasting my breath.”

“I’ve been called a waste of breath many times.”

“What?” His jaw ticks.

“I’m a terrible person sometimes. I get under people’s skin. Even I know that.”

He pulls into Diedrich’s long drive, but it looks like we’re close to being the last ones to arrive. We park behind Larsen’s Bentley, and Anton turns to me.

“You are not a terrible person.”

“Because I’m an aweso—”

“Nope.” He pinches my chin and leans in, dark eyes locked with mine. “No joking. You are an awesome person, Ez. And while we do this thing, you’re also my person. If anyone says that shit to you, they get to face both of us.”

I … have no idea how to respond to that because my brain has gone blank on the jokes. Hearing him say there’s an us, as fragile as it might be, is sort of … nice. Actually, a lot nice. West and I always had each other’s backs, but in a way where we’d defend the other separately. Not together. I’ve always loved being part of a team. Is that what a relationship thingy is like?

No wonder so many of my friends have fallen victim.

Anton lets me go, and we get out of the car to approach the front door together.

Diedrich and his wife answer, and her pregnant-glowing face lights up.

“Anton! It’s nice to finally officially meet you,” Gretchen says and hugs him.

“You too.”

Then she turns to me. “Ezra. Always nice to see you.”

“Lies. Congrats on baby number …”

“Five,” she says, pulling a face. “I swear it happens after every road trip longer than eight days.”

That’s … information I didn’t need to know about my team captain.

“When are you due?” I ask.

“Somewhere around the Stanley Cup finals. Is it mean of me to hope you guys don’t make the playoffs so he’ll actually be present for this one’s birth?”

I automatically knock on the doorframe to avoid that bad juju.

“Hey, I was there for one and four, thank you very much,” Diedrich says.

“Is that their names? One, Two, Three, Four?” I ask.