Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys Book 1)
Egotistical Puckboy: Chapter 24

I PRESS my tongue harder into my cheek to try and push down the rising emotions. Ezra left to get us drinks, and the second Westly Dalton approached him, I was completely forgotten about.

I’m still staring at the doorway they disappeared through as my overactive imagination conjures wild images that are impossible but I’m convinced are true.

Ezra on his knees for West.

Ezra bent over the banister.

Ezra moaning with West’s hand down his pants.

And then when another guy I don’t recognize joins them on the balcony, suddenly he’s in on the action going on in my mind too, even though he’s probably only going out there for a cigarette. My insecurities don’t make sense, and logically I know that, but that doesn’t stop my jaw clenching so hard I swear I crack a molar.

I remind myself Ezra’s aware of our arrangement and I trust him. Despite everything, that thought catches me off guard every time, but if Ezra wanted to fuck around, I know he’d tell me first.

Still, even the thought of him out there flirting with West, reliving old memories, makes my gut turn. I like him harmlessly flirting in front of me, behind my back? No. Nope. Don’t like it.

I don’t like any of this.

Okay, this is bad.

Ezra shouldn’t have this kind of power over me.

I haven’t slept with anyone else since our first time together, and I don’t even want to. I’m sure he got laid plenty over the summer, and even that makes me uncomfortable. We weren’t together, we didn’t even like each other, yet the thought sends a simmering rage under my skin that I can’t shake.

Maybe if we weren’t some kind of filthy secret, this wouldn’t be such an issue.

Whose fault is that though, moron?

I look around the room, determined not to go after him.

The alcohol is flowing freely, everyone seems to be laughing or joking, and fat checks are swapping hands. There are more than a few people on the dance floor now. I spot Diedrich and his wife and, surprisingly, a handful of same-sex couples.

My gaze catches on them. Discomfort creeps over me as I watch them in their own happy bubbles, proud to be who they are.

Goddamn it.

I want that.

I don’t want to want that. I’m happy. I know who I am. What does it matter that the rest of the world doesn’t? Why should it be a thing?

The reality is, though, that people still care. And they’ll continue to care until it’s normalized, and the only way for that to happen is for people to live their truth.

But the thing that’s making me keep my mouth closed is that if I come out, I won’t want to hide this thing with Ezra anymore.

Whatever it is.

Being out to me means dinner dates and holding hands and starting a life with someone.

Ezra might never feel that way. It has never been part of our deal. And if I come out and don’t hide being with him, that will be where the attention comes from and when this whole thing blows up in our faces, I doubt I’ll ever live it down.

I don’t want to be remembered as that NHL player who dated Ezra Palaszczuk and walked away brokenhearted.

I look back over at where Ezra disappeared, my anxiousness ramping up again.

They’ve been gone a long time.

To distract myself, I go and buy my own damn drink, but they’re still not back.

I’m not going to go after him.

I refuse.

I have no idea if Ezra has told West about us, and that bothers me so much I’m not sure I want the answer. I’m beginning to suspect this is how Ezra felt when I couldn’t even be friendly toward him. It sucks.

I finish my drink and weigh my options. I could go out there and be friendly to Dalton, having to look into his eyes and know he’s fucked the man I can’t stop thinking about. It’s no secret to me that Ezra’s slept around, but so far I’ve managed to avoid coming face-to-face with anyone he’s slept with.

My other option is to leave. But I already know that’s not going to happen. I’ll end up tormenting myself all night.

The third option is to walk out there and make it very clear where I stand with him.

Damn, that’s tempting.

So, so tempting.

It would only be West. I wouldn’t have to make a big deal out of it. I could walk out there, and so long as there was no one else around, all I’d need to do is slide my hand over his ass and my message would be clear.

Ezra is mine.

I groan at the thought.

At doing what no one else has ever done.

The thing is, I don’t want to rein him in. I don’t want to change him. He’s light. He’s attention. People are drawn to him and his larger-than-life personality. I want to wind him up and watch him fly, then be the safe place where he can land. The one he always comes back to. I’m okay with the flirting and the teasing, the only thing I’d expect from him is commitment.

Fuck.

Commitment.

With Ezra.

What is wrong with me?

Ezra is all of those things and more, but I’m … not. I’m hockey. I’m ego, and not in a fun way like him. How long until my possessiveness stops being hot and feels like a noose around his neck?

My foot taps as I contemplate ordering another drink.

I’m not going to go out there.

I’m not.

I won’t.

I refuse.

And yet I head in that direction anyway.

The second I step outside and see Ezra, something jitters inside me so hard it makes me hesitate.

I’m about to convince myself to go back inside when he looks up and catches me. Something passes between us that I can’t name, and when Ezra gives me a small, private smile, it brings the fire inside me alive.

Mine.

I close the distance between us, completely ignoring West and the man next to him and not stopping until I’m in Ezra’s space. My hand finds his lower back.

“Hayes,” he says.

“Remembered I exist, did you?”

“Aw, is someone feeling neglected?”

“Thirsty,” I correct. “What happened to my drink?”

He steps closer, shoulder pressed to mine, and turns back toward West. “You remember Dalton.”

I turn slowly to find West watching me. “Yes.”

“Anton Hayes.” West holds out his hand. “I’ve heard your name a lot lately.”

I hesitate before shaking it. “Well, I have the most points scored in the league this season, so I’m not surprised.”

The guy beside him groans. “Oh no, there are two of them.”

“Anton,” I say, holding out my hand to him.

“Jasper.” We shake quickly, and I swear he drops my hand faster than West did. Then there’s a beat of awkward silence before Ezra starts to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“I don’t actually know.”

“So, West,” I say, trying to be civil and not focused on him being hot and sweaty with Ezra. “How’s domestic life suiting you?”

“Best decision I ever made.” He points to Jasper. “This is my partner.”

Well, that makes me feel a fraction better. I lick my bottom lip and glance at Ezra to find him already looking at me. “What?”

“You’re not as growly as I was expecting you to be.”

“I’m trying hard to play nice.”

“That’s no fun. Do you need me to ask these two for a threesome to bring it out of you?” Ezra’s flirty smile is back in place, and I have the feeling that maybe he did tell West about us.

It makes me irrationally happy. I slide my hand up to grip the back of Ezra’s neck, fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. “Don’t worry, when we get home later, I’ll show you exactly how annoyed I am with you.” I can barely believe the words I’m saying in front of people.

His heated gaze meets mine. “Is that a promise?”

“We don’t need to hear this,” West cuts in.

“No problem.” I hold Ezra’s stare. “We were going to dance anyway.”

“We were?” Ezra asks.

“Unless you have any reason why we shouldn’t?”

“Did you take a hit to the head?”

“Is that your way of saying no?” That would be embarrassing.

“Oh, I’m all for it. But unlike you, I’m more than happy to make a scene.”

I lean in close to his ear, and my fingers tighten on his neck. “Then dance with me, Ez?”

As soon as he agrees, I turn on my heel and head back inside, not pausing to check if Ezra is following me. I have no idea what I’m doing, or what’s possessed me, but with all the rumors circulating lately, it’s not like this could cause any more damage.

At least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself of right up until I reach the dance floor and turn to find Ezra’s thankfully right behind me. He’s eyeing me strangely, and I can’t blame him.

My stomach is in knots, and I’m second-guessing myself, but then I think of losing all this, and my determination overrides everything else.

I hold out my hand, and after a fraction of hesitation, he takes it.

“I have questions,” he says as I pull him in close.

“I can imagine.”

“This is going to blow some shit up. Are you ready for the theories about us going from five to one hundred?”

“People are speculating anyway. This doesn’t confirm anything.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” He drums his fingers on my shoulder. “The question is, though, which rumors does this support? Because the dancing would fuel the dating rumors, but the look on your face makes me think you want to punch something, and people probably, correctly, assume that something is me.”

Huh. Time to ditch the murderous expression, then. I force myself to relax. “I didn’t like being forgotten about.”

His gaze darts away from me. “Yeah, so not what happened.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No. I got excited to see West, obviously, but then we ended up talking about you.”

Interesting. “What about me?”

“That you’re a giant idiot who bones like a beast.”

“Eh, I’ll take it.” My grip on his waist tightens, and I feel better than I have all night.

“You’re smiling.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Ezra studies me for a moment. “I, uh, I like when you smile.”

“What else do you like?”

“There’s no way I’m going to stand here and give you compliments.”

“Fine.” I know this kind of conversation is hard for him, but I’m not backing down. “My turn. I like how other people don’t get to you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Your turn.”

He hesitates, clearly needing to think about it.

“Wow,” I say. “I didn’t think it would be that hard to find something you like about me.” Because, ouch.

“Shut up, I’m trying to choose. Okay … I like … your hair.”

“My hair?”

Ezra nods. “Yeah, it’s soft.”

I hang my head back. “Well, fucking fuck. Slow down with those praises, Ez. Here I am thinking you’re fun and—” I glance around to make sure we’re not overheard. “—sexy. You always think the best of people, have a positive outlook on life, hate getting vulnerable, so when you do it’s—” I cut off. “Anyway.”

A long silence stretches and then, “I like … you,” he finally says.

“Me?”

“Hear me out.” He stares in the direction of my chest, avoiding my eyes. “I never thought I would. I always thought you were an asshole and had a stick up your ass, but now I know it’s because you put pressure on yourself to be the best. And I like being around you. You know more about the real me than maybe anyone.”

“There’s still a lot I don’t know. Like, a lot. What’s your favorite color? All-time favorite hockey player?”

“Red. It’s good luck in Poland. And all-time player? Me, duh.”

I’m grinning again. “Superstition and ego. I should have guessed.”

“Let me guess, your favorites are blue and Gretzky.”

“How did you—”

“They’re safe.” He gives me a knowing look.

“Okay, smartass.”

“This though—” His grip on me tightens. “—is not. Did you want me to hunt down Diedrich after this and force him to dance with me too? Take the heat off a bit?”

The fact he would do that, would even suggest it, sets off those jitters in my gut again. “Careful, Palaszczuk. I’m starting to like you too.”

“Oh no,” he gasps. “I take it all back. Everyone check out Anton with the fuckboy.”

“Stop.” I pinch his waist and lean closer to him. “I was wrong. You’re actually a”—I have to force the words past my throat because I mean them—“good person.”

He swallows. “I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before.”

“Because no one knows you like I do.” Instead of kissing him like I want to, I give him a small smile. “You’re my fuckboy now.”

“I should hate that, but … I don’t.” He lowers his voice. “I really, really don’t.”

I pull him closer than two friends would comfortably dance, half-terrified, half-high from the moment. From dancing openly with a man. Especially when that man is Ezra.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says.

I’m actually clueless, but I can deal with the fallout tomorrow. “It’s Thanksgiving next week. What are you doing for it?”

“Nothing. It’s the day after a game, my dad doesn’t celebrate it, and my mom … uh, yeah, let’s say we’re not the see each other for the holidays type. Usually Kosik and I go to Diedrich’s, but I think they’re visiting family in Quincy this year.”

“Well, I’ll be free too,” I say. “I won’t have time to go see my parents in South Carolina, and they only come to see me in summer when it’s not freezing up here, so …”

“So …”

“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

His eyes shine in amusement. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Fine. Want to come over? I’ll cook us lunch, and we can watch the parade together. There’s a game the next day, so we need to have our mandatory pregame ritual, but otherwise, friends hang out, right?”

“They do.” I catch a moment of doubt passing across his face, but it’s gone before I can question him. “You’re on.”

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