Egotistical Puckboy (Puckboys Book 1)
Egotistical Puckboy: Chapter 31

ANTON MAKES A PFFT NOISE. It’s not the first one he’s made since parking his ass next to me on my couch twenty minutes ago. He’s scrolling through his phone, something he has been constantly doing since our date last week.

We went out, we held hands over the top of the dinner table, we waved to fans and signed some stuff on the street, and then we came home, where Anton proceeded to wait for his life to implode.

It hasn’t.

The rumors still run rampant, but they haven’t changed much. They’re all speculation and no substance.

“Are we going to have to have sex in public for them to get it?” Anton asks.

“Or … and hear me out … You could tell them we’re together instead of hoping someone else confirms it for you.”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal of coming out.”

“I know, but this isn’t working. I still don’t care either way, and I understand you not wanting to address it directly, but—”

“What if I get a tattoo across my forehead that says I’m with Ezra? They’ll have to assume which Ezra because your last name won’t fit.”

“You could get it across your ass. Property of Palaszczuk. Then you can walk around without pants. I won’t be complaining.”

“Let’s save that for plan B.”

“What’s the new plan A? Because even I’m a no on public sex and being arrested.”

Anton hums. “I don’t know yet.”

I wrap my arm around him. “However you do it, I don’t care. If you’re second-guessing, that’s okay too. Maybe the moment will present itself. Ooh, sex tape.”

“Not on your life.”

“We could at least kiss in public.” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Nah, I don’t like that either.”

“Why not?”

“Because when I kiss you, I want to do other things to you—things we can’t do in public.”

“Maybe I’m having second thoughts, and we should revisit the coming out sex idea.”

“Let’s make that plan C.”

“Hey, if it’s on CCTV, we can knock off sex tape and plan C in one go.”

“No sex tape.”

I sigh. “Fine. However you decide to do it, I’ll support you. This is your moment, and I’ll go along with whatever you want.”

Anton squeezes my thigh. “This is our moment.”

I lean in and whisper, “I don’t know if you know this, but I’m already out.” I mock gasp. “Shocking.”

He shoves me. “I mean that it’s not just me coming out. This will blow back on both of us.”

“I think the only blowback I’ll get is accusations of being taken over by some body-snatching-type thing. Ezra Palaszczuk in a …” I gag. “Relationship? Gay men around the country will be crying.”

“In sympathy for me?”

“I think you should leave being funny to me. I’m better at it.”

Anton kisses my cheek. “You think you’re better. There’s a difference.”

I tackle him on the couch and climb on top of him to straddle his waist. “I can show you how I’m better.”

“Better at being funny? By having sex with me? Hmm, yeah, I can—”

I cover his mouth with my hand. “Ha, ha, ha, I’m bad at sex. You’re soooo funny. See, this is why you should leave it to me. In the meantime …” I snake my free hand between us and rub his cock over his pants. “Think we have time to get off before we have to get to the arena for the game tonight?”

Anton reaches above him to grab his phone and check the time. “Maybe if we jerk off with the urgency of teenagers.”

“Challenge accepted.”

He shoves down our sweats while I spit on my palm and then wrap it around both of us.

I’m not going to lie, since our streak was broken, there might be a teeny-tiny voice in the back of my head saying this could be bad luck, but we’ve proven since then that we can fuck and have good games or bad games. I know, logically, the actual sex has nothing to do with whether we win or lose, but going into games being scared of losing is when it’ll most likely happen.

Head games are the worst, which is why I do all my superstitious crap. If I have any seed of doubt, I’m too distracted and not focused on what I should be—hockey.

And when we do lose, I need to acknowledge that it’s not because a black cat walked by or not because one of the team walked under a ladder or opened an umbrella inside. It’s because it’s the game.

Anton grips the back of my hair and pulls my head down to touch my lips to his. He drinks me in while I stroke us fast and hard.

I spill first, the taunt about beating him getting swallowed by him moaning into my mouth and then coming right there with me.

Cum splashes between us, our kisses get sloppy and slow, but when I eventually slump on top of him, he doesn’t even give me the chance to recover.

He slaps my ass. “Come on. We have to go, or Coach will ream us for being late.”

“I’d never let Coach ream me. The only person who’s allowed to ream me is you.”

“Aww. Thank you. I think.”

“You’re totally welcome. This ass is yours now.”

Anton grabs a handful of it. “Mm, maybe you should get the ass tattoo, then.”

“Ooh, matching tattoos!”

“Okay, I was joking, and now I’m terrified you thought I was serious.”

I finally climb off him, and we clean up and get ready to head across the street to the arena.

We’ve been arriving to games together more and more, but still no one picks up on it.

We’re playing against Edmonton tonight, who are having a really good season so far, so even though it’s a home game and that goes in our favor, it doesn’t mean shit when both teams have been playing well.

I expect it to be a huge scramble and fight for the win, but the minute we get out there, it’s like my blade is magnetized. I’m intercepting passes, stripping the puck, and staying out of the sin bin while I do it.

Not only that, but Anton’s on one of his scoring streaks, and Edmonton’s goalie is having an off night.

By the time we head into the third period, Anton’s got two goals under his belt, I have one, and Larsen and Diedrich have one apiece.

The score is 5-2, and even though that’s a decent lead, we’re not going to let it get to us in the last period.

A three-goal difference is nothing.

When we’re sent back out there though, our lead becomes four when Larsen passes back to me and I take a slapshot that flies past everyone and right by the goalie. Then it feels like I blink and Anton is scoring again.

I practically tackle him to the ice.

It’s my man’s third hat trick of the season already.

Anton might not be able to say that us being together is good for our game, but we have to admit, it’s not bad for it. We’re both having our best season.

I’m starting to think we should’ve been on the same team all along. Think of all the Stanley Cups we could’ve won.

If I wasn’t so superstitious, I’d say we have a good chance at one this season. But I won’t say that. I’m not as reckless as Anton.

We leave the ice victorious and on a high that never gets old, even after the countless wins I’ve walked away with in my career.

When we get to the locker room, our PR manager flags down both Anton and me for the press conference, so we strip out of our gear and into our B’s shirts and head for the press room.

We’re led to the podium and take our seats next to each other.

I run my hand through my hair that’s still damp with sweat and take a sip of the bottled water they’ve put out for us.

The first question gets fired off. “At the start of the season, it was said Anton Hayes’s trade could be the smartest thing the B’s have ever done or the dumbest. What do you both think about that now?”

“Well, we’re winning, so of course we think it was smart,” I say, the attitude I’m known for slipping through.

Anton’s response is much more dignified. “The trade was a risk for all involved, but I can say without a doubt, it was the best move for my career. I’m having the best season I’ve ever had.”

Another reporter adds, “You got your third hat trick for the season tonight, including that impressive five-goal game you had against Colorado, and we’re not even halfway through the season yet. Do you see yourself breaking records this year?”

I slash at my throat. “Dude. Don’t jinx the poor man.”

Half the room laughs, including Anton.

Then, totally casual like he’s done it a million times, Anton reaches for my hand. “Ignore my boyfriend. He’s the superstitious type.”

My eyes widen, but he keeps going.

“But I do know I wouldn’t be having such a great season if he wasn’t there on the ice with me.”

I don’t think this has ever happened before … but I’m completely speechless.

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