Chapter 18: Egotistical Puckboy: Chapter 18

I’M on the streak of my life. After Colorado, I score at least one goal in each of the next three home games, which goes a long way toward winning over the Boston fans and shutting up the haters. If you talk to Ezra, he claims it’s all thanks to his dick, and while I’m not ready to believe something so ridiculous, I’m also happy to go along with his superstitions because I’m not going to say no to regular sex. With Ezra. I keep waiting for the itch to be around him to leave me, but instead, I swear it’s getting worse.

Scoring five goals in one game is one of those career achievements every player dreams of, and I’m still riding the high.

At our next away game in Toronto, Ezra and I are roomed together again, which makes it easy to hook up, but back at home, we need to get more creative. We both agreed that me being seen at his apartment too often would be basically announcing to the world that we’re sleeping together, and while I’m not apprehensive to officially come out, my need for privacy hasn’t changed.

Then on top of that, I’ve found a place to volunteer at that collects food donations and packs and organizes distribution of the goods. On the down low. So no one, not even Ezra, knows about it. Having that take up most of my free time means fewer chances for hooking up, but somehow, we’re making it work.

After a light day yesterday in the weight room, we’re back on the ice today to prepare for our game tomorrow.

We go through an hour of line work with Diedrich and Larsen, then half an hour of firing bullets at Griffith in goals, but all I’m thinking about is what I have planned for when we’re done today.

I’m sweaty and gross by the time we leave the ice.

I stretch out my neck as we strip off our hockey gear to head for the training room, and when Ezra falls into step beside me, his presence makes me immediately go stiff. Since we’ve started rooming together, I’m paranoid everyone knows what we’re getting up to. I want to argue with myself that just because we’re both gay, it doesn’t mean people would assume we can’t keep our dicks to ourselves, but … we can’t. Not because we’re gay, but because I’m very quickly becoming addicted to Ezra. Well, sex with Ezra. He’s good. At sex.

Damn it. I shake the thoughts from my brain and try to focus on anything other than the heat rolling off his body. I’ve been avoiding spending too much time with him while the team is around because he makes it hard to concentrate.

All it would take is one heated look and everyone would know.

Do I care if they know I’m hooking up with Ezra?

It’s … complicated.

Us sleeping together puts the team dynamic at risk. We’re making it work now, but if this thing ends badly, it affect our game. I don’t want that thought getting into the other guys’ heads.

“What are you doing later?” Ezra asks.

He doesn’t bother to keep his voice down, and I can’t help glancing around to see if anyone else heard us. And if they did, do they think it’s a weird question? Or have they accepted that we’re starting to get along? And if they accepted that, do they think it’s weird? Do they assume something’s up?

Why did I think I could do this?

I clear my throat and match his volume. “I’m meeting up with someone.” There. That’ll throw them off. Maybe.

“Oh, really?”

“Yep.” Then I pick up my pace and join Diedrich on the bikes. I can feel Ezra’s eyes on me the whole time I work out, and I want to remind him to at least try to be subtle. When I move on to weights, his stare still burns into me, and then for my cooldown on the treadmill, he follows and takes the one next to me. Hearing his heavy breathing fills my mind with all sorts of indecent images. I torture myself with it for five minutes before calling it a day.

When I head for the showers, Ezra pulls me back.

“Who are you meeting up with?”

I check we’re alone, then smile. “You.”

“What if I have plans?”

“Considering we have a game tomorrow? You don’t.”

“Can’t you at least let me pretend to play hard to get?”

“Fine.” I arch an eyebrow at him. “Carry on.”

“I’m actually busy later. There’re the things that need to be done and the other things that need attention. It’s going to take the whole day.”

I pretend like his fake resistance isn’t endearing. “Feel better?”

“Much.”

“What if I told you I finally have my apartment ready and we can meet up without worrying about being caught?”

“Did I say there were things that needed doing?” He taps his forehead. “I forgot. The things are actually you.”

“That’s better.”

There’s a sound behind me, and I immediately straighten and check we’re still alone. I hadn’t realized how close we were standing, which is another reason why I can’t be trusted around him.

“I’ll text you the address,” I say before heading in to join the others in the showers.

When we’re done, we all go our separate ways, and I drive to my new apartment. I’m only leasing it, because I’m still not sure if it’s right for me, but things were getting desperate. I finally caved in picking a place and had people furnish it while we were away. I think Gerard is happy he can be done with my pickiness. For now.

The best part is no one knows I live here yet, and Ezra is on his way over.

I shave my face and fix my hair to get it looking halfway decent. It’s still a bit damp from my shower, but if things tonight go the way they have most nights since Vegas, then I assume I’ll end up in the shower again at some point.

My buzzer sounds, and I go to let Ezra in.

I find him scrolling through his phone.

“Have you seen the latest one?” he asks.

“Hello to you too.” The rumors about us still haven’t settled down, but where I avoid them, Ezra seeks them out. Apparently, he finds them amusing. I step aside so he can pass me, but instead he closes the door and tugs me into a kiss.

I go willingly, but the kissing thing still confuses me. My experience with long-term hookups is limited, but I would have assumed kissing was reserved for boyfriends and sex.

But since I asked him to kiss me that one time in bed, Ezra does it every chance he gets. Like asking for it was opening Pandora’s box of affection.

I’m quickly realizing that Ezra is a tactile person. I don’t even know if he knows it about himself. He’s casually touchy with everyone, and I’m beginning to suspect his sleeping around isn’t because he wants to give the impression of being a manwhore but because it gives him what he needs on a bigger level than celebratory hugs on the ice and arms slung around shoulders during after game drinks. Deep down, he’s not craving sex. He craves .

He pulls back, and the bastard looks amused. “You almost felt like you enjoyed it that time.”

“What can I say? You’re wearing me down.” I don’t point out that if I wanted to end the kissing thing, I would, because I don’t want to draw attention to the fact I … don’t hate it.

“And according to this Buzzfeed article, you like it.”

“I don’t want to know.” I walk back down the hall to the living area, Ezra trailing after me.

“Do you know our ship name is Palayes? I don’t hate it.”

“It’s terrible.”

“Better than Hazczuk.” He chuckles. “You should see the way you’re looking at me in this GIF.”

“Pretty sure I was looking at Kosik.”

“You haven’t even seen the …” He pauses. “Fuck, you’re right. First, how dare you smile like that at anyone but me. Second, have you already seen this? And third, that first thing again.”

I laugh and pluck the phone from Ezra’s grip before tossing it on the counter. “O’Ryan sent me the GIF last week. Thought it was a funny joke. But that was right after Kosik saved my ass from getting pummeled by Saager during the Tampa Bay game and you happened to skate between us.”

Ezra narrows his eyes as though trying to work out whether he accepts that or not.

I step forward, tilting my mouth to his ear. “If it helps, I’ve never given Kosik that look from my knees.”

“Surprisingly, that does.” He pulls back, an evil glint in his eyes. “But now I’m trying to figure out how to be in the middle of a Hayes and Kosik sandwich.”

I don’t take his bait, even though the thought of him with Kosik makes me clench my teeth. We both know what he’s doing. “Considering Kosik is straight and I don’t share, you’d have to come up with something good.”

“Well, my magic dick is what got you to the top of the scoring ladder, so I figure he’ll probably want in on that once he finds out. All of the team will.”

“Your dick. Of course. It has nothing to do with talent.”

Ezra pats my cheek. “Exactly.” His hand stills, thumb sliding over my face. I almost lean into it and catch myself in time. “You shaved.”

“I did.”

His nose wrinkles. “You smell like aftershave.”

“Funny that.” I step out of his reach and grab my phone to order us dinner.

“I don’t like it.”

“Good thing I didn’t do it for you.”

“Obviously. It was for all the other men you plan on having over.” He steps up behind me, propping his chin on my shoulder and watching me scroll through the options. “Just so you know, I prefer when you smell all sweaty and like my cum. In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Well, I saved you from ever needing to. You’re welcome.” He reaches around me and taps on a Vietnamese place.

We end up ordering more than two people should reasonably consume, but there never seems to be any leftovers when we eat together.

“Now you need to give me the tour,” he announces, taking a step back.

“There’s not much of a tour. It’s only two bedrooms.”

“Aw, I get to have my own room? How sweet.”

My lips twitch. “Who said you’re staying over?”

“Me. And we both know I win at these things eventually.” His voice drags out teasingly as he walks away, off exploring my place on his own. The problem is, Ezra’s right. More and more lately, he’s been getting his way. It’s curious the way he wears me down because sometimes I don’t even try to fight it. Like tonight. He’ll be staying over, but it won’t be in the spare room.

After a few minutes of waiting in the kitchen for Ezra to return, I realize he’s not going to, so I go in search of him instead.

He’s made himself comfortable on my bed. Shoes off, propped up on my pillows with his hands folded behind his head. “Good view.” He gestures to the large window.

“It’s not bad.”

“Still miss your old place?”

I cross the room and sit near his feet. “Yes. It felt like home. This …”

“Will too. Eventually. No offense, but your other place was like a museum.”

“Sure. Because why would that be offensive?” I nudge his bent knees, and he stretches his legs out over my lap instead. “It had character.”

“So does this.” He waves a hand toward the crown molding.

“If that’s what you think gives a house character, your place is starting to make more sense.”

“Hey,” he protests. “My place is awesome.”

“It looks like a man cave on steroids. You couldn’t scream bachelor harder if you tried.”

Ezra sucks in a deep breath and then, “

!”

“Argh.” I flinch at the sudden noise, then grab a pillow and whack him with it, cutting him off.

“You know your problem?” He pokes me with his foot. “You’re a house snob.”

“Having standards doesn’t make me a snob.”

“You can’t claim standards when you’re sleeping with me.” His tone is light and playful, but it makes me wonder …

“What do you mean?”

“It’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” His light blue eyes meet mine. “That I’m your way of slumming it. A fun way to pass time until you meet some guy you can be serious with. Kinda like this apartment.”

“I didn’t realize you were here to psychoanalyze me,” I say.

Something churns in my gut at him thinking that, and I’m almost … offended? I might not be as openly affectionate as him, but that isn’t because I don’t value him or I think I’m better than him.

“Have you seriously not noticed how, even now, after we put all the bullshit behind us, you haven’t acknowledged me around the team?”

That can’t be right. “What are you talking about?”

“Like today, where you basically yelled you were meeting up with someone. I don’t think it will be the end of the world if the guys know we’re at least friends now.”

“Are we friends?”

“Ouch, Anton.

.”

“My point is what do we do other than play hockey and fuck? Is that friendship?”

“To me, it sounds like we’re besties. You also say that like we have time during the season to do other stuff. On the rare occasions we do get downtime, I tend to go golfing with some of the guys from the team. I’ll get you an invite next time. If …”

“If I suck your dick?”

“I was going to say if you start acknowledging me in public, you fucking snob, but a blowjob might be better. Damn it, now you’ve made things hard for me.”

“Okay, so in your own words, we’re at the level of friendship where public acknowledgments are cool, but blowjobs are even better?”

“Exactly. Like I said. We’re now besties.”

I laugh, but our whole conversation has got me thinking. I know I try to avoid him in the locker room, but I’m scared that all it would take is one smile his way and everyone would know.

Now he’s calling me out on it though, and being found out is scary, but losing this? I’m terrified I’m screwing it up, but I don’t know how to balance a secret relationship and show Ezra he means …

, all while not drawing attention. Because Ezra has enough people in his life devaluing him, and for maybe the first time since I met him, I don’t want to be one of those people.

“What’s up?” Ezra asks. “You have that look on your face like you’re trying to think. I wouldn’t waste my time if I were you.”

I pinch his calf. “I didn’t know I was ignoring you or making you think I thought less of you. So …” This is actually difficult for me to say to anyone, let alone Ezra. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you saying you don’t think less of me?”

I want so badly to joke—say something like I don’t think any less of him than I did before, which isn’t saying much—but there’s something about the vulnerability in his eyes that makes me think he needs the validation from me.

And for some reason, that makes my chest warm and fuzzy. I want him to want validation from me. It scares me because we might be , but Ezra doesn’t do serious—not even with West—and if I let myself get carried away with this thing, I’ll end up getting hurt. So I tell him the half-truth.

“I don’t want to fuck with the team, and I think being friends—proper friends—might do that.”

His face falls. “Sure. I get it.” Ezra goes to climb off the bed, but I grab his wrist before he can walk out.

“I don’t think you’re less than,” I say. “And I don’t want to treat you like shit.”

A hint of amusement starts to come back to Ezra’s face. “Seems simple to me, then.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” He leans down to kiss me. “Don’t.”