Chapter 22: Egotistical Puckboy: Chapter 22

IT TAKES a solid week or two for the team to calm down on the teasing. I get why they’re so surprised, but it’s also a relief when they start to move on from it because then I don’t need to be on edge all the time. It makes it easier to treat Ezra like any of the other guys on the team.

The problem is, though, he’s not any of the other guys.

When we joke together, there’s more subtext. While we’re laughing over something, it holds heavier meaning. The lingering gazes, the beat-too-long touches, the way my jaw starts to hurt from holding back from smiling at everything he says.

There’s no way to deny we’re friends now.

On the flight home from our away game yesterday, a couple of us organized a game of golf once our morning workout was done. It will be the second time Ezra and I are hanging out with the team as friends, and I’m … excited?

This is different.

Celebrating after games is more about our push and pull. He flirts with men, it turns me on, I pull rank, and Ezra basically melts for me.

Today, we get to be friends without all the other nonsense. We’re allowed to like each other without things getting weird or twisted.

The problem is, they’re already getting weird and twisted in my head.

I’ve started noticing this pang that hits me right in the chest whenever Ezra is being, well, Ezra. All the bad qualities I used to hate about him no longer seem as irritating.

Diedrich has a membership with his local country club, so I drive out there and meet the guys. Ezra’s already there, caramel-colored hair brightened by the sun, and I immediately grin as I pull into a parking space.

“About time, Hayes,” Diedrich says as I grab my clubs from the trunk and lock up.

“Gotta save the best for last.”

Ezra snorts. “I can’t imagine why anyone would call you egotistical.”

“Tell me you’re not already thinking of how to make me eat my words.”

We catch eyes. Smile wide.

“All right, besties,” Diedrich says, heavy on the sarcasm. “Let’s get moving. Kosik is already inside.”

It doesn’t take much brainpower to guess why. He’s leaning on the counter, chatting with the woman behind the desk. Ezra and I trade a glance before he walks over to them.

“You know,” Ezra says, and I immediately pick up on his shit-stirring tone. “This guy’s a real catch.”

The woman lifts her eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

“Yup. Decent at hockey, still has most of his own teeth, barely snores. His personal hygiene could use work, but look at this face …” He squeezes Kosik’s cheeks for emphasis, and while Kosik bats Ezra away, I approach on his other side.

“Not to mention he’s great at spooning, right, Ez?” I turn to the woman, who looks more amused than interested. “Want to see the photos? They’re adorable together.”

“I’ll pass.” She looks back at Kosik. “Was it just the balls?”

Ezra nudges him. “You’re in.”

“Leave her alone,” our captain says, joining us.

Ezra snickers. “We’re double-teaming Kosik.”

“Fuck you guys,” Kosik grumbles.

“Welcome back, Mr. Diedrich,” the woman says, like she’s trying to ignore the three stooges in front of her.

“Ooh, Mr. Diedrich. I like that. You can call me Mr. Palaszczuk.” Ezra stresses the Polish pronunciation.

At the woman’s blank face, I say, “You can call him Hayes two-point-oh. He basically wants to be me anyway.”

Her lips quirk, and she holds eye contact a little too long before she grabs Kosik’s golf balls and the keys to the golf carts Ezra insists we need.

He’s less than friendly as he collects it and steers me outside while Diedrich pays.

His pouty face is pouty.

I poke his cheek. “Are you sulking?”

“She thought you were hot.”

“And?”

“And? You’re mine.”

That word hits me with a surge of satisfaction. Whenever I say it, it’s on a sexual level. I own his body and all the ways to make him feel good, but there’s something in his tone that covers more than that, and I love it.

“Ez …” I soften my voice. “I’m gay.”

“I know that. But if you were anyone else, I would have walked right up and claimed you.” He tosses me a key. “She got lucky.”

I frown. Not because I object, but because that’s his voice. Is that what he wants? I’ve given him the acknowledgment and friendship he wanted, but claiming is a whole other step. A big one. That’s relationship levels. I’m not sure what to think about that.

The little pang hits me again, leaving an echo that sounds suspiciously like “liar” behind.

I shake it off and point to the closest cart. “This one is mine.”

“Deal.”

We climb into our carts as soon as Kosik joins me—after pointing out how much he hates us both—and Diedrich joins Ezra. From the drive to the first hole, our egos take over.

We race to see who can get there the quickest. We’re both determined to make the best score on the first hole, and then we compete for the first hole-in-one. Every time we make a hole under par, we’re quick to goad the other, and it reaches a point where I barely register Diedrich and Kosik are still with us. They’re in their world; Ez and I are in ours.

“Race you to the ninth,” Ezra says the second Diedrich makes his shot, and the four of us break into a run.

Kosik and I all but jump into our cart, and then I turn it over and put my foot down. These things gain speed for something so small.

We’re tearing across the perfectly manicured turf, pushing the fifteen-miles-an-hour limit to its max and probably breaking about a hundred of the country club rules, but fuck if any of us care.

It’s been a long, long time since I switched off and had fun like this.

Kosik’s laughing and white-knuckling the handgrip as we round the small crop of trees toward the ninth and head downhill. The small bumps in the terrain jolt us in our seats, and I can feel the cart starting to become unstable. Reluctantly, I ease up on the accelerator, and Ezra and Diedrich start to pull ahead, until—

“Ez!”

He sees the pond a second after me and hits the brakes. The back end kicks up, and it’s like slow motion as Ezra and Diedrich jump from the cart as it flips. It tumbles downhill and hits the pond with a massive splash.

The sound of the water is still ringing in my ears as I bring the golf cart to a stop beside them. The four of us are silent for a second as we stare at the mess.

“Fuck …” Diedrich hisses.

“You both okay?” I ask.

Ezra nods, but Diedrich shakes his head.

“You’re hurt?”

“I will be. My wife is going to kill me if I get us kicked out of the club.”

I smirk. “Not the pain I was talking about.”

“If it helps,” Ezra says, “I’ll make sure your funeral is awesome. Lots of tears and sappy stories.”

“I think the only thing that’s going to help is us going back in time and not being dickheads,” Diedrich answers.

I hum in agreement.

“The tabloids are gonna love this,” Kosik says.

My back tenses painfully, and Ezra’s gaze shoots to mine.

I lick my lips. “Nothing none of us haven’t dealt with before.” I sound way more confident than I feel, but thanks to Ezra, I’ve been in the tabloids more this season than any other. I take a deep breath and remind myself I can get through this.

“Okay, plan,” Ezra says. “I’ll offer to buy them two golf carts to replace this one.”

“We all will,” I cut in, because this wasn’t all on Ezra. “We’ll split the costs.”

The others quickly agree.

“Sweet, so we’ll replace the carts under the provision they keep this quiet.”

“And I get to keep my membership,” Diedrich adds.

“Yeah, sure.” Ezra waves him off. “One last thing though.”

I wait for him to continue.

“We all agree not to tell Coach.” He grimaces. “This is the last thing I need for him to hold against me.”

To my surprise, I actually laugh.

Sure, the knot of anxiety is there over the idea that this will get out, but no one got hurt, and we were having fun until right now.

The whole—slow—drive back to the clubhouse, we’re mostly quiet. I can tell that even though it isn’t all on him, Ezra still feels bad. He keeps glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, like he’s waiting to see what my reaction will be.

So I give him time, and when he finally meets my gaze again, I wink.

His relief is immediate.

As is that stupid, dumb little pang.