Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys 1)

“I’ve got one year left on my contract,” Ollie says, “and I don’t think I’m going to renew it.”

“What will you do?”

“Lennon was talking about creating my own hockey segment on his sports show. I don’t know if being on TV is for me, but I’d love to give it a try.”

“That’s awesome.”

Ezra lets out a long sigh. “Whose ass am I going to check out when we play New York now?”

He gives me an evil look, and I squeeze his thigh in warning.

“I think the right answer here is your boyfriend’s,” Tripp answers, and the others laugh.

“Real talk though.” Ezra leans forward. “NHL or not, you’re queer collective for life. Same as Soren. Same as any of us. We don’t need to replace you because while you might not be a hockey player anymore, you’ll still be one of us.”

He and Ollie share a smile. The kind that can only be understood by them. Ollie and Soren were first, but Ezra wasn’t far behind them. He came out after being signed to his first team. They only ever had each other, and I understand why he needed this. Why we all do.

“Better make it one hell of a last season, then,” Foster says.

Ollie lifts his glass. “Cheers to that.”

We all tap our drinks together, but then Tripp lets out a loud groan.

I turn in the direction he’s looking and see Dex heading right for us. At the look on his face, Tripp goes from annoyed to concerned in a second flat.

“What’s wrong?” There’s an edge to his voice that sounds like he’s ready to attack whoever made Dex look so dejected.

Dex steps up into the cabana, takes Tripp’s glass, and downs the entire contents.

“Fuck, Dex,” Ezra says. “You don’t shoot this shit. You’re supposed to sip it.”

“What’s the point?” He slumps into Tripp’s side and face-plants into his shoulder.

I exchange a look with Ezra.

“Ah, Dex? What’s up, buddy?” Ezra asks.

“Jessica.”

Tripp immediately scowls. “What’s she done now?”

“She used the ‘I’ word again.”

I’m confused. “Idiot?”

“Irresponsible.” Dex looks up to pout at Tripp. “Is it true? Am I an irresponsible fuckboy who will never be ready to get married? I can commit.” The panicked look on his face and the way he tugs at his collar says otherwise. “I can—could. If I wanted to. Obviously.”

“Uh-huh.” Tripp pats his head, avoiding eye contact with the rest of us.

“Hug me, Trippy.” Dex pulls Tripp’s arm around him and buries his face again. Tripp’s eyes fall closed, and the poor guy looks in pain.

“Hey, Dex,” Ezra says, standing suddenly. “You look like you could use some shots. Come get them with me.”

The two of them disappear, and Tripp slumps forward, letting out a long breath.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yep,” he says, sounding more like he’s trying to convince himself than us.

“You need to get over that,” Ollie warns.

“I’m working on it.”

“The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” Oskar says at the exact moment one of the servers arrives to collect empty glasses and bottles from the table.

The server almost trips over himself and then turns bright red.

“Hey,” Oskar says to him. “This is our man Tripp. He’s a professional hockey player and is very bendy.”

“Hi, I’m going to go die now.” Tripp tries to get up, but Oskar pushes him back down on his seat.

“What do you say?” Oskar says.

The server looks back toward the bar and then to Tripp. “I get off in an hour.”

As he walks away, Oskar calls after him, “I promise Tripp can get you off faster than that.”

Tripp sinks farther into his seat while the rest of us laugh.

Ezra comes back, and I pull him down into my lap. I’ve never been more grateful to have found him than I am at this exact moment.

“What are you doing?” he asks playfully.

I press a hard kiss to his lips. “Holding my prize.”

“Normally I’d call you out on being cheesy, but do go on.”

I tug him down so my lips are pressed to his ear. “Remember what I said our first time together?”

“What part?”

“That when you see me lift that Stanley Cup, all you’re going to think about is me fucking you.”

Ezra shivers.

“Did it work?” I ask.

“No.”

Well, fuck.

He pulls back and laughs at the look on my face. “Because I’m constantly thinking about it. Always. Whenever I look at you, whether you have the Stanley Cup or not.”

I stroke his cheek. “Okay, I like your way better.”

When he kisses me, it’s softer, slower. “Want to head out soon?”

“Yeah, we should probably meet the team.”

“We should … after a celebratory quickie?”

“You’re on.”

“Ah, guys?” Foster says. “We can hear you.”

The others shake their heads at us.

“Well then,” I say, standing and taking Ezra’s hand. “I guess we don’t need to make an excuse to leave, then, do we?” I grab the bottle on the table. “And we’ll be taking this with us. See you guys in a few weeks.”