Chapter 13: Egotistical Puckboy: Chapter 13

ALL THROUGHOUT DINNER, Anton shoots me these looks I can’t decipher. Probably because he’s actually smiling at me. And not at something I’m saying or doing, but, like, just in my direction.

I think he’s broken.

When he gets up halfway through and heads for the restrooms, I count to sixty and then follow him as subtly as I can, but in the men’s room, he’s actually pissing, and so is Diedrich.

I didn’t even see Diedrich leave the table.

Damn, no hookup, then?

I don’t need to take a leak, but Diedrich is looking at me as he washes his hands with a confused expression, so I take the place next to Anton and think of waterfalls and running water.

Diedrich leaves, and I turn to Anton.

“I thought that was an invitation. You’ve been staring at me all night.”

“You think everything is an invitation. Someone breathes near you, and you try to hump them.”

“In my defense, nine times out of ten, I’m right.”

He slaps my shoulder. “Not this time.” He crosses the bathroom to wash his hands, and I do the same.

“Then when are we going to fuck again, and when can I get a turn at your ass?”

Kosik walks in, and fine, I get it, a bathroom hookup in the restaurant our entire team is eating at is not a good idea.

Anton starts in the direction of the door, and I follow him out. “Patience,” he says. “When we get the chance, we’ll take it, but after that game, I’m exhausted. I’m going to go back to the hotel and sleep in my big, comfy bed. I suggest you do the same. Big game against Vegas in two days.”

Anton gives me that weird smile again as he walks away, but it’s not until we get back to the hotel room that I’m able to decode it.

Kosik comes back when I do because he says he lost his room key, and as soon as I open the door, the stench of a thousand men assaults my nostrils.

Now, the smell of one or two sweaty men in a bed is hot. Especially when mixed with the scent of sex. But this?

I have limits.

“What the fuck did he do?” Kosik asks and lifts his shirt over his nose.

“Who? Wait, let me guess. Anton fucking Hayes.”

Everything looks in its place, except my blanket is less perfect than Kosik’s.

We approach the bed cautiously, and I almost gag as I pull back the covers to find wet towels and half the team’s base layer clothing everywhere.

“That smell ain’t coming out,” Kosik says.

“You’re the one who let him in here. You should give me your bed.”

“He said it wouldn’t affect me.”

“Didn’t think that one through, did ya, genius?” I pull off all the bedding and wrap the offending garments in the sheets and then chuck it all in the bathroom and close the door.

“I don’t think that worked,” Kosik says, still holding his nose.

I grab some deodorant from my luggage and spray that shit everywhere, while Kosik strips down and gets into his bed.

If either he or Anton thinks they’re getting off so easy, they’re sorely mistaken.

I get down to my boxer briefs and climb in next to Kosik.

He nudges me. “Sleep on your bed.”

“There’re no sheets. Also, hold still.” I curl around him and then lift my phone to take a selfie.

“That better not show up on any puck bunny websites,” he warns. “Unlike some people, I actually like getting pussy, thank you very much.”

“Don’t worry. It’s for a special someone.”

“Eww. Are you going to jerk off to a photo of me? I love you like a brother, dude, but I don’t want you plundering my booty.”

I have to laugh. “Are you calling me a butt pirate? Offensive much?”

“Fuck off.”

“Nah. You owe me. I can’t believe you sold me out to Hayes.”

“If I let you sleep in my bed, will you shut up about it?”

“Yes.”

He grumbles under his breath. “Fine. Just go to sleep already.”

“I have to do one thing first.”

I attach the pic and send it to Anton with the caption:

The next morning when we emerge in the lobby, I don’t have to make eye contact with Anton to know he’s glaring at me.

It makes me insanely happy to be the focus of his attention.

“Anyone else get the best sleep ever?” I ask.

“Someone got laid,” Diedrich taunts.

I open my mouth to draw this out, but Kosik beats me and ruins my fun.

“No, he did not.”

“You liked me spooning you all night, big guy. Don’t lie.” I blow him a kiss.

“Who wants a new roommate on the road?” Kosik asks.

“Uh, why were you two … spooning?” Larsen asks.

“Yeah, Hayes? Why did I spend the night curled up next to Kosik?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The fucker smirks, and I’m so pissed Kosik couldn’t let me pretend we had sex. Just for long enough to make Anton crazy.

One thing’s for sure: payback is going to be bigger and better.

And it starts as soon as we get on the bus to the airport.

He sits down front, and I’m toward the back with Larsen.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Tempting, but I’m not going to bite.

Damn him.

As soon as we’re checked into the hotel and I warn Kosik not to “lose” his room key again, I order an Uber to meet Tripp at the D on Fremont St.

It’s where we always go whenever part or all of the NHL queer collective is in town for obvious reasons—the name alone.

I walk into our favorite steak house and find Tripp already there with, unsurprisingly, Dex Mitchale. They’re sitting on one side of a high-walled booth, so I slide in opposite them.

“You brought an outsider?” I pretend to be outraged.

“It’s only Dex.”

“What if I want to talk about a guy I hooked up with who has a weird-shaped dick?”

As the words fall from my mouth, the waiter appears. “Uh, umm … I’ll give you a few minutes.”

Tripp smiles. “You’re going to scar the waitstaff for life.”

“Please, like he doesn’t like the D,” I mutter.

“Really?” Dex asks. “How can you tell?” Dex leans over Tripp to try to see the waiter’s retreating back. “Tripp, you should ask for his number.”

“Yeah, Tripp,” I taunt. “Ask for his number.”

“I’m good. Thanks.” Tripp buries his head in the menu.

Then Dex turns to me. “So, guy with a weird dick. Was the tip cut at the end to make it look like a snake tongue?”

I … have no words.

“I’m proving I can be one of you guys. Talk all the dicks you want. I own one. I’m not scared.”

Tripp holds up his hand. “Please don’t.”

“All good. I’ll need the Mitchell brothers to help me out with something later anyway,” I say.

Tripp kicks me under the table because he hates, hates, it when he and Dex are referred to as the Mitchell brothers. Same last name, spelled differently.

And they couldn’t look more opposite.

Dex is tall and lanky with dark blond hair. He’s hot as fuck but dumb as bricks, and that’s okay, because he’s a loveable bastard. Not a bad hockey player either. Tripp is shorter and wider, with the reddest hair you’ll ever see. His skin is flawless and covered in adorable freckles.

“What do you need help with?” Dex asks.

“Getting back at Anton Hayes.”

Tripp groans. “Not getting involved.”

“I’ll do it,” Dex says.

“It’s official, Trippy. Dex takes your place in our group.”

“Woohoo!” Dex fist-bumps me. “So what are we gonna do?”

“An oldie but a goodie. We’re going to take all the furniture out of Hayes’s room and put it in the hallway. I need you two to help me move it all. Oh, and to get the room key from the front desk.”

Dex turns to Tripp with his big puppy dog brown eyes.

Tripp throws up his hands. “Fine. Let’s stoop to Ezra’s level.”

Dex puts his arm around Tripp’s shoulder and pulls him close. “This is going to be fun.”