Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

“It’s how I remember them,” Diedrich says, but then his gaze flicks between me and Anton. “You two … came together? Or did you arrive at the same time?”

I throw my arm around Anton’s shoulder. “Together. We’re besties. It’s a new development.”

“Kill me now,” Anton mutters.

Diedrich steps aside. “That sounds about right. Come on in. The guys are already out the back.”

We walk past a group of women, some I recognize as other players’ girlfriends and wives and others I haven’t met before—presumably Gretchen’s friends. We give them a wave and head out back to the team, who are standing around the backyard, all with drinks already.

“Looks like we have some catching up to do,” I say.

Anton touches the small of my back. “I’ll get us drinks.”

I make my way over to Larsen and Kosik, but they too do a double take.

“Did you walk in with Hayes?” Larsen asks.

“What’s so wrong about that?”

“It’s you. And Hayes.”

Anton appears and shoves a beer in my hand. “We’re besties … apparently.”

“Hey, I’m just doing what team management asked. I’m playing nice.”

Kosik leans in closer to Anton. “Don’t turn your back on him tonight. This prank has to be epic.”

“Please. I am past all the pranks.” I sip my beer. “I am a mature adult.”

Everyone laughs.

“Fucking whatever.”

“Nothing says mature adult like muttering the words ‘Fucking whatever,’” Larsen says.

Apart from the initial comments about Anton and me coming together and having to defend that we have actually become somewhat friends—which we expected to face—Anton finally starts to relax around the team in my presence.

I take that as a good sign, but who knows how long it will last.

Twenty-Two

ANTON

It takes a solid week or two for the team to calm down on the teasing. I get why they’re so surprised, but it’s also a relief when they start to move on from it because then I don’t need to be on edge all the time. It makes it easier to treat Ezra like any of the other guys on the team.

The problem is, though, he’s not any of the other guys.

When we joke together, there’s more subtext. While we’re laughing over something, it holds heavier meaning. The lingering gazes, the beat-too-long touches, the way my jaw starts to hurt from holding back from smiling at everything he says.

There’s no way to deny we’re friends now.

On the flight home from our away game yesterday, a couple of us organized a game of golf once our morning workout was done. It will be the second time Ezra and I are hanging out with the team as friends, and I’m … excited?

This is different.

Celebrating after games is more about our push and pull. He flirts with men, it turns me on, I pull rank, and Ezra basically melts for me.

Today, we get to be friends without all the other nonsense. We’re allowed to like each other without things getting weird or twisted.

The problem is, they’re already getting weird and twisted in my head.

I’ve started noticing this pang that hits me right in the chest whenever Ezra is being, well, Ezra. All the bad qualities I used to hate about him no longer seem as irritating.

Diedrich has a membership with his local country club, so I drive out there and meet the guys. Ezra’s already there, caramel-colored hair brightened by the sun, and I immediately grin as I pull into a parking space.

“About time, Hayes,” Diedrich says as I grab my clubs from the trunk and lock up.

“Gotta save the best for last.”

Ezra snorts. “I can’t imagine why anyone would call you egotistical.”

“Tell me you’re not already thinking of how to make me eat my words.”

We catch eyes. Smile wide.

“All right, besties,” Diedrich says, heavy on the sarcasm. “Let’s get moving. Kosik is already inside.”

It doesn’t take much brainpower to guess why. He’s leaning on the counter, chatting with the woman behind the desk. Ezra and I trade a glance before he walks over to them.

“You know,” Ezra says, and I immediately pick up on his shit-stirring tone. “This guy’s a real catch.”

The woman lifts her eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

“Yup. Decent at hockey, still has most of his own teeth, barely snores. His personal hygiene could use work, but look at this face …” He squeezes Kosik’s cheeks for emphasis, and while Kosik bats Ezra away, I approach on his other side.

“Not to mention he’s great at spooning, right, Ez?” I turn to the woman, who looks more amused than interested. “Want to see the photos? They’re adorable together.”

“I’ll pass.” She looks back at Kosik. “Was it just the balls?”

Ezra nudges him. “You’re in.”

“Leave her alone,” our captain says, joining us.

Ezra snickers. “We’re double-teaming Kosik.”

“Fuck you guys,” Kosik grumbles.

“Welcome back, Mr. Diedrich,” the woman says, like she’s trying to ignore the three stooges in front of her.

“Ooh, Mr. Diedrich. I like that. You can call me Mr. Palaszczuk.” Ezra stresses the Polish pronunciation.