Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

Once he told me his story, I brought him here to drink away his problems because … healthy.

Probably not the best example I should be setting.

Especially because now, as we’re waking up, me on one couch, him on the other, both hungover as fuck, it’s clear that maybe I should have lent a comforting ear instead of telling him, “Relationships suck. Here, drink up.”

“What’s that banging?” he complains.

“You can hear the drum kit that’s in my head?”

“Ezra!” Bang, bang, bang, bang.

“Is that in my head too?” I ask Ayri.

“No, I think it’s coming from your front door.”

“If you and Ayri Quinn are naked, you better get some fucking clothes on before I break down this door. Getting an ass kicking while naked is too gay, even for me.”

Anton.

I try to get off my couch but kind of roll off it instead and hit the ground with a thump. “Ow.”

“Fuck, who is that?” Ayri asks. He sits up, looking as disheveled as I am, his eyes squinty and skin ashen.

“My stupid boyfriend. Who’s stupid. The one I was telling you about in my drunken ramble.” Okay, Anton isn’t stupid. Last night was stupid.

Lashing out was stupid.

Challenging him to see what he would do was stupid.

Most of all, hanging our whole relationship on the outcome of one game is stupid.

And yeah, maybe we haven’t had that conversation yet—that we’re actually together—and yes, we need to have it. But last night, I needed to lick my wounds and sulk.

Now, apparently, I have to explain myself. How did he even know Ayri was here?

I open the door, my vision blurry through still-squinted eyes to find Anton standing there looking murderous. The bags under his eyes probably rival my own. “What time is it?” I rumble.

“Six.”

I groan. “I’ve only had like three hours’ sleep. Can you yell at me after I’ve had coffee?”

I turn and let him in and head for my kitchen, but as we round the corner, Anton’s eyes land on Ayri.

Ayri frowns. “Anton Hayes?”

“Fuck this,” Anton says. “I just needed to make sure I was right, and I am. So fuck you”—he points at me—“and fuck you.” He points at Ayri. Then he turns to leave, but I catch his wrist and pull him against me.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from you. You’re still free to hook up with whoever you want, Ez, but I thought you’d at least have the decency to tell me before you did it. The worst part is I actually trusted you. I never, never would have thought—”

I chuckle and wrap my arms around him.

“You think this is funny?”

“A bit.”

“Why?”

“Does it really look like either of us spent half the night having sex?” I gesture to where Ayri still sits in his rumpled suit. Hell, he hasn’t even taken his tie off.

Anton glances around at all the empty beer bottles scattered around the place, the almost empty bottle of tequila on the coffee table, and he lets out a little “Oh.”

“If I let you go, can I explain without you running off?”

He looks around again. “Okay.”

I release him and click on my coffee maker. “Now.” I spin and lean against the counter. “All we did was talk. And mostly, I talked about you. I left your name out of it, of course, because I’m not going to out you to anyone, but—”

“It’s true.” Ayri stands from my dark leather couch. “It got pretty ugly in here both with alcohol and emotional shit. You really didn’t want to see it.”

Anton glances between the two of us. “I’m confused.”

“I …” Ayri starts.

I nod in encouragement. Last night, it was like pulling teeth trying to get it out of him because he’s not used to coming out yet.

“My boyfriend broke up with me, and I knew Ezra was out. I … I wanted advice.”

Anton cocks his head. “And you thought Ezra would be the best choice? For relationship advice.”

“I would have come to you, but I didn’t even know you were … with Ezra.”

“Oh dear God, he didn’t encourage you to drunk dial your ex, did he?”

I laugh. “I think I did at one point.”

“I was drunk, but not that drunk,” Ayri says. “I should get back to the hotel before the team leaves without me.” He steps up to Anton. “Nothing happened—”

“I know. I trust Ez.”

“Yes, because I totally got that impression when you were banging down my door,” I say.

“Urg, I was scared I’d lost you, you idiot, but if you tell me nothing happened, I trust your word. You’ve never lied to me even when you hated me.” He turns to Ayri. “I’m sorry for threatening to kick your ass.”

Ayri tsks. “Tripping me and threatening to kick my ass in a twelve-hour span? You guys don’t take it easy on us rookies, do you?”

Anton snorts. “Nope.”

“I’ll leave you guys to it.”