Shameless Puckboy (Puckboys Book 3)
Shameless Puckboy: Chapter 26

THIS CAMP IS state-of-the-art for something that’s a nonprofit. Richie from Montreal’s PR department has organized this whole benefit because he went to college with the owners of the camp, as well as Foster Grant, one of our very own from the Collective.

Richie gives us a tour of the main building, which includes the dorms, the admin offices, and a dining hall before moving on to the marquee set up outside where I spot Ezra, Anton, and Foster putting tablecloths over rented tables.

“Damn it,” I say loud enough for everyone to hear. “We got here too early, and now I need to help set the place up? I thought it was my job to stand here and look pretty.”

I didn’t know it was possible to make this many hockey players silent at once, but I’ve managed it with one joke.

When I look at Lane to taunt everyone over being awkward about my appearance, the disappointment on his face is obvious, and I’m reminded that he wants me to make an effort with my friends or whatever.

This whole growing as a person thing is really fucking boring. Though, I might see his point. A little. This event and how many of us turned up is proof that the Collective will do anything for each other, yet I’ve somehow never called upon them for anything serious. I haven’t confided in them. Haven’t really talked about anything deep.

Because I try not to go there with anyone.

Letting Lane in has brought us closer. Not the physical side either. I’m connected to Lane in ways I don’t completely understand yet, but I do know that he’ll be there for me if I need him. I guess with the Collective, I’ve held back because what if I did need them but they didn’t care? What if I called for them and no one showed up? What if I was the one member out of all of us who wasn’t a priority? I’ve never had to test it out, and I have to say, I’m not liking doing it now either.

Ezra is the first to get to me, and he pulls me in for a tight hug.

“Whoa, who died?” I ask because he’s hugging me and not giving me shit about how ugly I am. It hits a little too close to my chest. “Other than my modeling career.”

When Ezra pulls back, he looks all serious and sympathetic. “I just don’t know how you’d be feeling.”

I go to open my mouth to say I’m fine, but he keeps talking.

“Before, you could’ve rivaled me for sexiest player in the league, and now you’d be lucky to beat Tripp.”

“Hey,” Tripp whines while I laugh. My face still feels tight and sore from the stitches and bruising, but at least the almost serious moment has passed. “Redheads are hot.”

“Not when they’re stealing your soul,” Ezra yells.

Other people helping set up the event look over here with varied expressions. From awe to confusion and everything in between, Foster being one of them.

Foster starts in our direction and brings two other men with him, and when he gets to me, he slaps my shoulder. “Have to say, you’re less intimidating with all”—he waves a hand in front of my face—“that being mangled now.”

I’ve heard the intimidating thing before. A lot.

“And I’m not now?” I ask.

“Not for your face anyway. You’re still scary as ever on the ice.”

Under his praise of hockey, I preen. When Foster mentions my looks, I hate it. There’s barely a difference, but with hockey, it took years of dedication and work. I was born with my face. It’s the whole reason I built up my personality so it’d be the first thing people noticed about me instead of my looks. One compliment is acknowledging my talent and my drive. The other is giving a silent high five to my parents for fucking each other, and that’s weird.

“This is Beck and Jacobs,” Foster says. “They own the camp. They’re also really big fans and are going to embarrass the hell out of me, but I promised I’d introduce them to as many of my NHL friends as possible so they could have some pull with clients and investors.”

“Aww, you want to use me for my fame?” I ask the two guys who are maybe one or two years younger than I am.

The dark-haired one’s mouth drops like he’s in trouble. The blond, who has a carefree look on his face, simply says, “Yep.”

I chuckle. “Wow. No shame. You’re my type of guy.”

The blond leans in close to his partner and whispers, “Is it too late to change my hall pass to Oskar Voyjik instead of Zendaya?”

The growl from wherever Lane is hits my ears and makes me light up inside.

“Ignore Beck,” Foster says. “We all do.”

“Oh, I don’t think I want to. I’ve never been someone’s hall pass before.” And while I’d normally be all over the hot blond, who has blue eyes and that All-American glow, I have no desire to go there.

“That you know of,” Lane mumbles, his jealous streak showing once again. “How could you know when you don’t even know most of your hookups’ names?”

I rub my chin. “True. Next time I’ll ask if I’m their hall pass before I let them fuck me.”

“No hall pass,” says the guy who must be Jacobs if the blond is Beck. He turns to his partner. “Besides, what happened to being mostly straight?”

“Hey, I might skew toward women, but have you seen Voyjik on the ice? Sexiest thing ever.”

Him wanting me for my hockey skills and not caring about my mangled face? No, that’s the sexiest thing ever.

“Can I please, please, please have sex with the camp owner?” Not that I actually want to. I just want to see Lane’s reaction again.

Both Lane and Jacobs snarl, “No,” at the same time.

There it is. That delicious jealousy that almost makes me feel worth something. I can barely contain my smile. “Sorry. My sex jailer says no.” I thumb in Lane’s direction.

“Sex jailer?” Beck asks. “I really want to ask what you did to get one of those, but I get the feeling it’s a cult, and I promised Jacobs’s mom that I wouldn’t sign up for one of those.”

Jacobs coughs and says, “Again.”

Foster’s friends are fun.

“Where do you need help?” Lane asks, trying to get this shitshow back on track.

Jacobs points to the tables. “We need help setting up the marquee for lunch, and then when the guests get here, we’ll show them the grounds and the rink. Did you bring any San Jose merch for the auction later?”

I glance at Lane because I have no idea what he’s talking about.

Lane obviously does though. “It’s in the trunk of our car back in the parking lot, and Oskar still has to sign all of it. We’ve been a bit preoccupied with pain meds and stitches. We’ll get them out and signed now.”

Ezra whines. “He gets out of helping because of one little skate to the face?” He calls out to Anton, who hasn’t stopped working since our arrival. He’s fully into the charity thing. “Hey, babe! Can you throw your skate at my face? Apparently, it will get me out of helping.”

Anton doesn’t miss a beat. He keeps on working while yelling back, “I thought we already agreed it wouldn’t make it through your thick head because your ego is like padding around your skull?”

Ezra slumps. “He loves me. I swear he does.”

Tripp raises his hand. “I’ll give it a try.”

“No, you’d do serious damage. Anton wouldn’t be able to stand it if he mangled my face as bad as Oskar’s.”

“I’m so glad all of my friends are so sensitive toward me over my near-death accident.”

“Pfft,” Ezra says. “Please. Death of your career, maybe, but your eye is fine, right? They say you’ll be back for the playoffs. Therefore, you’re fair game. Just because you aren’t as pretty, don’t think we’re not going to treat you the same.”

Jesus, there is something wrong with me because my admiration for Ezra just grew. “I know this will sound sarcastic, but that’s possibly the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Ezra cocks his head like a dog, and I can’t blame him for being confused, but I ignore it.

“Shouldn’t you all be working?” I ask, which makes them split into work mode.

Lane puts his hand on the small of my back and says, “I’ll go get all the gear from the car you need to sign. Take a seat and rest.”

“I’m not completely broken, you know.” Though I am already exhausted, and it’s going to be a big day, so I don’t fight doing what he says.

Lane looks into my eyes, and a small smile crosses his lips. “I want to look after you.”

And fuck, if that doesn’t feel good. Someone to look after me. Care about me. Actually ask how I’m doing … But while he disappears, the flies swarm back toward me. Even Anton.

“Collective meeting,” Ezra says. “Now.”

All of them are staring at me like they want answers to questions I should know but don’t.

“Uh, my PR manager told me I have to take a seat and rest. Sorry.”

“Nope. You don’t get out of this that easily,” Ezra says and grabs my arm to drag me toward one of the already set tables.

And then there they are, Anton, Ezra, Tripp, Dex, and Foster, with all their focus trained on me.

“So. I look scary now. It’s pretty cool.”

“Cut the shit,” Ezra says.

“Umm. I’m not scary-looking?”

“Tell us what we want to knoooow,” Tripp whines.

“What do you want to know?” I have no idea what they’re talking about, but I get the sinking feeling—

“Are you having sex with your PR manager?” Foster asks.

Oh fuck. Yep. There it is.

I didn’t think we were being obvious. “Why do you ask?”

“I have a sixth sense,” Ezra says. “I know who exactly has had sex with who.”

No,” Tripp cuts in. “It’s because you’ve been here longer than five minutes, and you haven’t joked with Lane about having sex. Therefore, you’re actually having sex with him.”

I rub my chin. “Well, damn.”

“You are, then?” Dex asks.

I lick my lips. “Maybe.”

Everyone around the table groans.

“No, it’s not as bad as it sounds,” I say. “It’s …” What is it? “He’s helping me.”

Tripp snorts. “Helping you come?”

And here it is. Here’s the moment where I either need to seize this opportunity to let them all in or keep my mask in place. I take a deep breath. “He’s helping me see that there’s more to sex than doing it for attention or to make a headline. It’s more than fulfilling an image that I need to fit. And …” I hesitate.

I’ve already given more than I normally would, but there’s something about Lane that makes me want to open up about him. Because he’s amazing.

“It’s actually kind of cute. You all know how I have a thing for public sex. Well, he’s been giving me that … without actually giving me that. He pretended my neighbor was on her balcony and could see into my house, and there was the time with the phone in the hotel room where he filmed us, but the steam from the shower actually blocked the camera from getting anything scandalous, and another time he turned the porch light on so no one could see in but told me they could. And even though I realized afterward there was no chance of being caught, that he came up with these scenarios for me … I didn’t call him out on it because … he …” I shake my head. “He understands me and still wants me anyway. Even though it’s only physical.”

Though, it’s not only physical for me anymore, is it? And by the look of everyone else at this table, they don’t believe it either.

“We love you,” Anton says cautiously. “But do you realize this could completely tank his career?”

“Yep. And to start off with, I didn’t care, but … for once, I’m …” It’s so hard to get out. “I’m worried about how my choices affect someone else. Because I know it’s wrong, but I don’t want to stop.”

Then Ezra looks over my head, and his eyes widen.

One of my gear bags drops to the ground by my side, and Lane’s voice makes me flinch.

“Apparently we’re common knowledge now?”

Oh, shit.

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