Shameless Puckboy (Puckboys Book 3)
Shameless Puckboy: Chapter 13

“CAN I TALK YET?” Oskar asks from the passenger seat.

“No.”

“But—”

“Shh.”

“Lane, I—”

“Not yet.” My hands clench the steering wheel so tight they’re cramping. I want to wait until I get him home before I unleash over all the sheer dumbassery that he’s constantly getting himself into.

Aleksander Emerson? Can’t Oskar keep it in his pants for one fucking afternoon?

Not only is Emerson Oskar’s teammate, but he’s about to go through a very public divorce with his high school sweetheart. They’ve been media darlings for years, and this … no. This I absolutely cannot let Oskar get involved in. Aleks is already being pinned by the media for indiscretions that are complete bullshit, but even with Rebecca denying that’s the reason for the split, no one will believe it.

Especially not if Oskar Voyjik’s name gets mixed up in it.

My head is pounding. Not only am I going to have to do some hard-core damage control, every time I picture Oskar’s mouth on Aleks’s, this hot, harsh feeling churns my gut.

“Come on, Lane—”

“I said no, Oskar. You do understand what that word means, don’t you?” My voice is strained as I try to stop myself from raging at him. This is all on me. I’m the one who let him go out. I’m the one who gave him space. And, yeah, he didn’t go and screw everything up, but he was well on his way to doing it.

“What’s the difference between now and when we’re back?”

“When we’re back,” I grit out through my teeth, “I don’t have the possibility of running us off the road.”

“Wow, you are mad.”

My jaw clenches to keep from responding. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to provoke me so we get this over and done with on his terms, but that’s not happening. I’m so angry and goddamn jealous I can’t even see straight.

And that’s the kicker, isn’t it?

I should be more pissed that Oskar is corrupting a teammate and willingly walking into another scandal, but all I can concentrate on is how desperately I want to replace Oskar’s memory of that kiss with one of my own.

My approach of playing it cool, of teasing and getting under his skin, has backfired because I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a man as much as I want Oskar Voyjik.

“Lane, let me—” His voice is softer this time, which only pisses me off more.

“Save it.”

We’re not doing the vulnerability thing again. There’s no way in hell I’m going to show him that it works on me, speaks to a side of me I try to keep hidden behind a confident attitude and a cool façade. Oskar might be willing to let pieces of himself out, but I’m not going to reciprocate.

Not after … that.

My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches as much as my hands.

It’s almost a relief to pull into his driveway, except where I’d been hoping to calm down on the drive, to approach this professionally, that’s gone completely out the window.

I throw open my door, climb out of the car, and storm inside.

Only a few hours ago, I’d made a choice that could have lost me my career, but I have another chance to hold on to it, and I’m not going to let Oskar get one over on me again. He’s proven how little he respects my trust—I’m not fucking up my entire career for someone like that.

A minute later, Oskar strolls inside, and the carefree vibes rolling off him only fan the flames of my anger.

“What …” I begin, trying and failing to control my tone, “did you think you were doing?”

“So I’m suddenly allowed to talk, am I?”

“Yes, and you better get started.”

He pretends to inspect his nails, nose screwed up on his stupidly gorgeous face. He clicks his tongue. “The problem is it’s been so long since you showed up, I seem to have forgotten everything.”

“Cut the shit.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about …”

“How about having your tongue halfway down the throat of one of your teammates?”

“Halfway?” He sneers. “Now, we both know that’s impossible. My cock, however—”

“You’re unbelievable.” I scrape my hands through my hair as Oskar continues into the kitchen. No smart-ass reply, no challenging my assumption, just acting like this entire conversation is beneath him.

I storm after him. “Do you want to get fired? Is that what this is?”

“That’s possibly the dumbest question you’ve ever asked me.”

“Then what the hell is your problem?”

“I’m not the one with the problem. It’s everyone else who wants to constantly act offended by my life.”

Urg. “Of course. You’re the victim, right? You sound like you’re in high school. Grow up.”

“You treat me like I’m in high school, so I’m playing the part. Making your job easier.”

“Easier?” I explode. “Both our heads are on the chopping block here. You screw up and you get fired, right before I’m shown the door as well.”

Finally, his bored expression slips. “What?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “What did you think was happening here? That I’m hanging around because I enjoy your company?”

“Is that why you told Damon?”

“No, I told Damon because I didn’t want you to throw away your whole damn career.”

“But you could get fired for that.”

I throw my hands out to the side. “At this point, I could get fired for any number of things. Like letting you leave tonight. If you’d gone to a club—”

“But I didn’t.”

“No, instead, you went to our practice rink, in broad daylight, with another player and then proceeded to hook up with him in the fucking locker room.” That red-hot, sickening feeling comes back.

“No one saw us.”

“I did. Which means anyone could have walked in there.” I huff. “I was actually coming to pick you up and congratulate you on making a smart decision for the first time in your goddamn life, and then I had to see … to see …”

“Us hooking up?” Oskar helpfully supplies.

I advance on him until he backs into the fridge. The teasing is gone, and his eyes look sharper, darker, as they meet mine.

“Never again,” I say.

His lips tremble. “Careful, Lane. You almost sound jealous.”

“I’m your PR manager. I’m worried about the team.”

“Yeah, because you were really worried about the team when you gave Damon the heads-up about me.”

“I wrongly thought it might make you wake up to your actions.”

“Except you’re forgetting one thing.” He laughs dryly. “I’m wide-awake to all the shitty things people do and I’m only playing their game.”

I shake my head. “That’s more excuses, and you know it.”

He shrugs. “Too late to change now.”

“It’s never too late. And if I have to stay glued to your side for the rest of the season, I will. You and him won’t be happening again.”

“I never realized you were so possessive—you didn’t have an issue watching me on camera with two other men.”

He’s right. As much as I might have wanted to sleep with him then, there was no jealousy because he was just another hockey fuckboy. Now … I still want him, but it’s shifted. Because while I want him, I want him to need me.

“Admit it,” Oskar says. “You wish you were the one I was kissing.”

I open my mouth to deny it, but I can’t make the words happen. Not while I’m pinned in his stare. Not while he’s less than a foot away. “There will be no you and Aleks.”

He opens his mouth to say something, then slams it shut again. Heat burns in Oskar’s stare as he curls his fingers into the front of my shirt and tugs me toward him. Our bodies collide, his warmth wrapping around me, sucking me into his presence.

“You know how you can stop me,” he taunts, deep voice turning raspy.

And while I’ve been able to mostly ignore my attraction to him this entire time, I’m quickly losing the fight. I try to remind myself of willpower and professionalism, but my cock is putting up compelling counterarguments.

And then Oskar seals my fate.

He leans in, nose brushing my temple, heavy breaths at my ear. “For the team.”

The team. Aleks. Both of our jobs.

He shifts, and I catch the faintest scent of sweat. “You want to stop me from going out and having sex with anyone else … give me a reason not to.”

God fucking damn it.

He’s done it. Given me all the excuses I need to justify crossing this line I know I shouldn’t be crossing. None of the flimsy excuses will mean anything if we’re found out, but for now, they’re easing the stupidity.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach down and close my hand over his rock-hard cock, then squeeze him through his pants.

“Be a good boy and open your mouth.”

His jaw immediately drops, and having Oskar Voyjik in the palm of my hand—literally and figuratively—turns me on so bad my dick throbs. We make eye contact for a fraction of a second, something heavy passing between us before I tear my gaze away. I ignore whatever that was.

This is all about sex.

The team.

Our jobs.

I dive on his mouth, sealing both our fates with the filthiest kiss I can manage.

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