Chapter 20: Egotistical Puckboy: Chapter 20

THE WHOLE GAME, Montreal has had us on the back foot. Their offense is on point, but luckily, so is our defense. Ezra’s playing an incredible game, and whenever I’m in the team box and he’s out there, I can’t keep my eyes off him.

There’s nothing but the roar of the fans, the cool ice, and Montreal standing between me and adding another point to this season’s tally.

Coach is on edge, arms crossed, jaw set. He hasn’t stopped pacing.

For the first time all night, Montreal sends their third line out, and I watch Foster Grant hit the ice.

Coach calls for a line change, calling for me to go up against the kid who’s breaking records all over the place.

Diedrich, Larsen, and I are over the barrier the second we can, and we’re straight into it.

Grant is fucking fast. Griffith stops his first two attempts on goal, but that doesn’t slow him down. I want to school him to pace himself, but when you only get a few minutes of ice time each game, you’re hungry for it, and Foster Grant always skates like he has something to prove.

He’s like an eel, constantly slipping free of Diedrich and breaking away from defense, and when he’s got the puck, none of us can take it from him.

Fuck.

Time is ticking down, and I know Grant will be pulled from the ice soon. I’m determined not to let him leave until I’ve shown him what someone with years of experience can do.

The second I see Torson pass to him, I tear down the ice. The crowd drowns out, my legs burn, and my focus narrows down to the puck.

Then everything falls into place.

Ezra shoots past me, legally checking Grant into the boards before he can get a pass off. I change course, scoop the puck up on my way past, and head straight for the blue line.

I catch sight of Torson to my left and send a bullet right by him to Diedrich, who passes to Larsen. Excitement flooding my veins when I’m hit with a wild thought:

There’s not a shred of doubt with that statement. Superstitions be damned, Ezra and I made this happen.

I push harder, falling in line with Larsen as he shoots—and misses. The puck bounces off the goalie’s pads and rebounds right into my blade, and I fire it back to Larsen, who now has a clear shot.

The lamp lights up.

“

!”

I knock my helmet against Larsen’s as Coach calls us off again.

When the game ends 2-1, I haul Ezra against me. It’s safe, because the rest of the team is doing the same, but I keep it short—shorter than when I hug the other guys.

And the moment that thought hits me and I step off the ice to head down the chute, our conversation from last night runs through my head.

This is what he was talking about, and now that it’s been pointed out to me, I can see where he’s coming from. I didn’t mean to treat him that way at all, but the problem is, I’m worried about getting friendly with Ezra. The moment last night where we talked about our families really toed that line of what we are and highlighted exactly why I’ve been trying to keep my distance.

The impossible has happened. I like Ezra .

And I’m beginning to think if we become actual friends, I’m going to end up liking him a whole lot more than that. I’m scared I already do.

I watch as he takes off his gloves and shoves them under his arm, then pulls his helmet off. I do the same. I remind myself that being friendly in public with Ezra isn’t going to make me fall for him unless I let it.

So I won’t let it.

I reach over and ruffle his sweaty hair. “It wasn’t broken ankles, but we sure showed Grant.”

“I know, it was like—” Ezra makes a gagging noise. “—

.”

“You meeting up with him after this?”

“Yep. Queer collective rules.”

Sometimes I wonder if Ezra takes this queer collective more seriously than the others, but then I think back on the bond he has with Tripp, and it makes me curious. I have friends in the league, and I love them, but there’s something about shared experiences that can’t be beat. One day, when I retire, will I regret not getting to know these guys better?

I’m already regretting not getting to know Ezra sooner.

“Maybe I could come?” The words leave me before I give myself time to think them through.

Ezra stops in his tracks. We’re midway between the locker room with the waiting press and the fans hanging over the railings, so I’m confident neither will overhear.

He looks as surprised as I feel, but thankfully, he doesn’t question me. “I dunno, I sort of feel like you’d be cramping my style. Foster Grant is .”

“And taken,” I point out.

“Maybe his boyfriend is the sharing kind.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

Ezra blinks at me innocently, and it makes me equal parts amused and stabby. “I don’t know what you mean.”

I grab the collar of his jersey and tug him to me, thankful that our conversation has made us fall behind the others. “You’re trying to get me jealous.”

“You look so sexy when you’re trying not to deck someone.”

“Why do I always need to remind you who you belong to?”

His eyes fly up to meet mine and . Umm. I’m still trying to think of how to make those words go away without sounding like a complete dick and making him feel bad again, when he starts to smile.

“I think you like it,” he points out. And of course, Ezra is able to see right through me. “Do you like seeing me flirt with other guys? Knowing that they can’t have what you can?”

Somehow, I hold back from groaning. “Not the place to be having this conversation.” I loosen my hold on his jersey and can’t help subtly brushing my fingers along his neck as I release him. He fights back a shiver that makes me grin. “But I give you full permission to flirt with whoever you want. We both know whose dick you’re going to finish the night on.”

I really want to kiss him to prove my point, but this isn’t the place to do it. So instead, we both head inside the locker room to cool down and shower. Even with a room full of men, I can feel Ezra’s presence like it’s the only one that matters. My body is so in tune with where he is at all times that it makes it hard not to chub up as I’m washing myself.

Once we’re finished and getting dressed, I glance over at Ezra pulling on a suit with what looks like a leaf print. He catches me watching him, and I hurry to turn my attention back to my cubby.

“You serious about coming to meet Foster with me?”

“Yeah.” I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip. “Think he’ll care?”

“Nah, he’s pretty laid-back.”

Ezra is right. When we walk into the hotel bar where the rest of the Montreal team is mourning their loss, the first words out of Grant’s mouth are “Fuck you very much, Palaszczuk.”

His team behind him laughs, but then he breaks away from them and leads us to a cocktail table with stools.

“How’s the shoulder, sweetheart?” Ezra asks.

“You two really couldn’t go easy on a rookie like me?”

“Rookie?” I take the stool beside him. “Yeah, you can’t play that card in your third year, and you can’t play it when you’ve been offered another three years on your contract and the media can’t shut up about you.”

“To be fair, it’s Canada,” Ezra points out. “They don’t have much else to talk about up there.”

“True. Tell me, do they pay you guys in real money or just, like, Timbits?”

“Your jokes would be so much funnier if I was actually Canadian,” Grant says.

“You’ve been there over two years,” I point out. “You’re basically one of them now.”

“Shut up and buy me a drink. I have sorrows to drown.”

Despite his words, he doesn’t look all that upset. Disappointed, sure.

“Funny, but, Ez, didn’t we win?” I ask.

“I think we did.”

“So shouldn’t the loser be buying drinks?”

“That how it works, I hear.”

Grant flips us off but heads for the bar.

“I think we teamworked again,” I point out.

Ezra shudders. “We to stop doing that.”

“He’s cool.” I look at where Grant is waiting.

“Uh-oh.”

“What?”

Ezra leans in close. “You gave me permission to flirt. Not the other way around.”

“Aw … would you get jealous?”

“Jealous? You’re cute. Thinking of you and Foster together?” He moans. “Turned on is more like it.”

My fingers bite into his thigh. “Careful. I’m getting the urge to teach you a lesson.”

An evil look crosses Ezra’s face, and I’m certain I won’t like what comes next. And not because I’m against it. But because he already knows how to read me too well.

Grant gets back with the drinks and slides ours across to us. He eyes us strangely for a moment, and I realize I’m still leaning into Ezra’s space and my hand is still on his thigh. I quickly straighten.

“That’s the only round you’re getting out of me,” he says.

“Maybe I could get something else out of you later.” Ezra winks.

“You wish.”

“Your loss. My cock’s basically a good-luck charm. Or like Aladdin’s lamp. You rub it and all your dreams come true.”

“Has that line ever worked before?” I ask.

“It depends.” He turns to me. “Want to try it out?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to cockblock Grant.”

Grant lifts his hand. “Solidly taken and committed, thank you.”

We both ignore him.

“You should have heard the guy I was with the other night,” Ezra continues. “Thought my name was Jesus.”

My cheeks heat as I remember exactly what night he’s talking about. We’d fucked so hard and fast I’m pretty sure I lost brain cells in the process. “Maybe what he really wanted was divine intervention to stop him from making a big mistake like sleeping with you.”

“I’ll ask when I meet up with him later. You know, if I can get anything other than babbled pleas in response.”

“Might want to check in with him. I think he just got busy.”

There’s a laugh from the other side of the table, and Ezra and I both turn to Grant at the same time. “Sorry.” He holds up his hands. “Didn’t mean to interrupt … whatever that was.”

“Banter between teammates,” I suggest.

“Right. Yeah, I’ve seen that kind of”—he uses air quotes—“banter between teammates before.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“No, nothing.” And like he can’t help himself, he continues. “Though I didn’t know you were queer. Are you closeted, or …?”

I could deny it. I don’t want to though. “There are plenty of people who know. But they respect my privacy enough not to spread it around.”

He lifts his hands. “Noted.”

“But now that you know,” Ezra says, propping his elbows on the bar table. “Interested in a threesome?

, a foursome. You can bring your little guy and—”

I grab Ezra’s thigh again in warning. “Stop talking.”

“What are you gonna do, Hayes?”

“Not something I need to hear,” Grant hurries to cut in. “And Zach and I do the monogamy thing. If I saw another guy touch my boyfriend, I’d probably break their fingers.”

“I’m exactly the same,” I say, and it takes me a moment to realize why Grant is looking at me weird again. I quickly remove my hand from Ezra’s leg. “When I have a boyfriend. Which I don’t. But I the same.”

I’m failing terribly at being subtle. I don’t know how to do this. How to walk the line between being friendly with Ezra and keeping things under wraps. I might as well have clubbed him over the head and carried him back to my den where Grant is concerned.

Ah, fuck it all.

We don’t stay too long with Grant—just long enough for Ezra to check in with him and catch up—and as soon as we leave the bar to go back to where our team is celebrating, I can’t wait any longer to touch him.

I drag Ezra down into a side alley and push him up against the wall between a dumpster and a fence. Then I kiss him. My tongue surges forward into his mouth, and all the doubts calm.

, I know. Sex between us is easy. It makes sense.

So I pull back from the kiss to undo his belt, then spit into my hand.

“I think I failed at the flirting thing,” Ezra says.

“I don’t know. You went so over the top with it that Grant knows exactly what’s going on between us now.” I slide my hand down the front of his pants and wrap my fingers around his half-hard cock.

Ezra moans. “Yeah, but I was meant to be flirting with , not you.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m extremely irresistible.”

“Yeah, my favorite quality is your humility.”

I don’t respond, kissing him again, stroking him until he’s fully hard.

“Also, so you know, you didn’t fail,” I say.

He looks at me like he’s struggling to stay focused. “What do you mean?”

“Your aim was to flirt with him to turn me on.” I press my hard cock into his thigh. “Mission accomplished.”

Ezra goes to reach for me, but I swat his hand away.

“What are you—”

“I’m saving that for later.”

“Ohh, tell me more.”

I pick up the pace of my strokes, tightening my grip and twisting over the head. “We’re going to meet up with the team, have some drinks, and you’ll be your usual charismatic self.”

“Like I can be any different.”

I lean closer, lips brushing his. “And the whole time you’ll know this is what’s waiting for you. The second we walk into my apartment, I’m going to bend you over and make you take my cock like you were made for it.”

Ezra’s eyes roll back, and his dick jerks in my hand. He’s so close. So turned on. He’s leaking so much I want to drop to my knees and swallow him down, but instead, I twist a hand through the hair at the back of his neck and bring my lips to his ear. “I’m going to fuck your gorgeous brains out, Ez.”

He cries out, and his cock pulses right before warmth floods my hand. He comes and comes, and my hard-on is begging me to let it get some action, but I push that thought away.

When he finally slumps back against the brick wall, breathing returning to normal, I tuck his dick back inside his briefs and use the inside of them to clean up the mess.

He cringes. “That’s going to be uncomfortable.”

“That’s going to be your reminder.”

He furrows his brow, clearly not totally with it. “What do you mean?”

“It’s going to be all you can focus on.” I press him into the wall with my body. “Every little cringe, I’m going to know you’re thinking of me.”

“You really are a possessive motherfucker, aren’t you?” There’s a teasing note coming back to his voice.

I tilt his chin up so he meets my eyes. “Are you okay with that? Despite our history, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or feel like you can’t say no.”

His gaze softens. “Look at you, being almost sweet.”

I go to argue, but he cuts me off.

“And when have you ever known me to do anything I don’t want to? If I didn’t like it, I’d tell you. But so far, I’m loving every minute of it, Hay—

.”

“Even though it’s me?”

“

because it’s you.” There’s a brief flicker of panic that crosses his face, so I kiss him.

I don’t ask him to elaborate because I don’t think either of us could handle it. Whether he meant the animosity made things hotter, or the teammates aspect, or it just being me? I don’t know, and I don’t want to.

So I keep kissing him.

Until we’re both out of breath and we can pretend like his words are forgotten.