Shameless Puckboy (Puckboys Book 3)

I WAS in my car and halfway to a bar, prepared for some afternoon drinking that would lead to a night of poor decisions and drowning myself in a dick or two, when the reality really set in.

I’ve pretended I don’t care about anyone or anything but myself for so long that I’ve actually started to believe I don’t deserve anything real. Even with the threat of trades, the constant shuffling from team to team, I’d still have the only thing I’ve ever loved: hockey.

But now they’re threatening to take it away from me, and I couldn’t resist coming to the one place that makes me truly happy.

The sound of my blades gliding over ice is both relaxing and anxiety inducing. I can’t let them take hockey. They can’t fire me.

At the same time, they can’t tell me who I can and cannot sleep with either. The public thing, fine. I understand that. But having Lane follow me around to make sure I keep my dick in my pants is ridiculous. I thought it would be a lot more fun than it is.

Aleks is doing laps, getting in a workout, but I’m taking my time.

Feeling the ice beneath me, the cool air on my face. It’s like I’m already saying goodbye because I can’t trust myself to stay on the straight and narrow. Which is a dumb saying anyway.

Aleks laps me and jumps in front of me, facing backward. “I thought you said you wanted to skate, not do … whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I’m so happy I called you out here for this.”

He does a hard stop. “Why did you call me out here?”

Honestly, it was so I wasn’t tempted to do exactly what Lane expects me to. Maybe I should have picked a different teammate. One who isn’t going through a messy divorce and would jump at the chance to go out if I asked him to.

“Lane thinks my place on the team is in jeopardy. So after a chewing out from my agent, I yelled and stormed out of my own house because Lane is always there. Because I can’t be left without supervision, it seems.”

“So … you called me because you can’t, in fact, be left without supervision?”

“Maybe.”

Aleks starts skating backward, so I follow him, pushing forward. “What kind of jeopardy are we talking here? Trade?”

“Termination,” I mutter under my breath.

He stops again. “Fucking, what?”

“Hence …” I wave my hand around the rink.

“Though, why are you moving so slow? You should be killing it. Hitting the ice so hard and fast, you get it pregnant.”

I cock my head. “Does that even make sense?”

“Sure, why not? Come on, I’ll race you.” He takes off, but I yell after him.

“What are we, five?”

“You act like it sometimes,” he yells back. “And that’s exactly why you’re in this mess.”

Asshole. I take off after him, chasing him around the rink as fast as I can and possibly cutting corners to catch up to him.

Maybe. Definitely not cheating.

But the guy is smaller than me, sleeker. He’s light on his feet, and he’s goddamn fast.

The game of chasing him lasts until we’re both sweaty, breathing heavy, and my legs are aching.

Aleks clings onto the side railing, coming to a stop, and I slam right into him. “I give,” he breathes, trying to gulp in gasps of air. “You got me. You win.”

“That’s the problem with you forwards. You don’t have the stamina of us D-men.” I pin him against the boards.

He turns his head to look over his shoulder at me. “Ooh, an extra five minutes of ice time. Such stamina you have.”

“Five minutes.” I scoff. “I’m on the ice at least ten more than you during any given game.”

“You wish.”

“Admit it. I’m better than you.”

“Again, you wish.”

I shove him, and he pushes back against me. He tries to turn to get the upper hand, but I won’t let him, and then I’m too busy laughing to see him make his move.

His lips seal over mine.

I’ve had my fair share of straight guys taking a walk on the gay side with me, and it’s gone to shit every time, so while my urge is to push him away, I hesitate because I don’t want this to blow up in our faces. I don’t want him to feel like I’m rejecting him because he’s … him. That has the potential to cause problems on the team. I just want him to know that I can’t go there with him.

I promised myself I would never hook up with a “straight” guy again. I might not have a lot of rules when it comes to my sex life, but that one’s a hard line.

It’s a quick two or three seconds before I pull back, and he must see it written on my face because he lets out a curse.

“I’m so sorry I did that. I thought …” Aleks shakes his head. “I think I read into that.”

I glide backward, putting some distance between us. “Yeah. You did.” I want to reassure him somehow, but I’ve got nothing.

That’s something else I’ve learned over the years with bicurious guys. If you tell them it’s okay or forget about it or anything like that, it gives them the impression it wasn’t a big deal and they can do it again.

But when he says, “I think I’m done,” and skates toward the exit, I force myself to follow him because this is the last thing I need—to start a feud with a teammate.

“Aleks, wait …”

He doesn’t. If anything, he moves faster.

The back of his neck above his practice jersey is bright red, and even though I chase after him, even off the ice, he’s still faster than me.

I catch up to him in the locker room, where he’s already stripped out of his jersey and shoulder pads. He has nothing but skin underneath, seeing as he didn’t realize I was going to suggest we skate in full gear—I needed to feel the weight of my pads. Full gear grounds me. Feels more like a game or a proper practice. It was the reminder I needed that I love the game, and if I want to keep it, I have to turn my attitude around.

I look at Aleks’s chest, his smooth body that under any other circumstance might tempt me to put my rules about straight guys on hold, and when my gaze travels back up, I find him staring at me.

“And I wondered why I was getting mixed signals. You’re eye-fucking me right now.”

I wave him off. “I eye-fuck everyone. I draw the line at actually doing it. Especially with straight guys and especially teammates.”

“I’m not straight. I knew from an early age I was bi but found my wife before I was really old enough to explore it.”

That explains the weird reaction when I told him I could take him out after his divorce because we wouldn’t have the same competition.

“The teammate thing still stands. I … I’m already in enough trouble without piling an illicit affair on top.”

“Fair enough.”

“Are we cool? Like, clearly you have all these deep, emotional feelings for me, and—”

He flips me off, and I smirk.

“Such deep, deep feelings,” he deadpans. “But in all honesty, I think I just wanted to get that first kiss out of the way. Maybe even a first hookup. It’s so weird being separated from Rebecca that I have all this anxiety about dating. I figured—”

I don’t let it get to me. I won’t. “Use the slutty fuckboy as a training course to gay sex. Got it.”

“No. It’s not even that. That you’re a man didn’t really factor at all. It doesn’t with me. I figured getting that second first-ever time out of the way would help. But I realize it was crossing the line and blurring our friendship, and we still have to work together afterward. So can we forget it happened?”

I let out a relieved breath. “As long as we’re cool, I can do whatever you want me to do.”

Aleks throws up his arms. “There you go giving mixed signals again.”

“You wish I was hitting on you. You can’t handle all of this.” I wave a hand down my body and do a little shimmy.

“Well, yeah, that’s the other reason I realized I made a mistake. You’re a gorgeous guy, but damn, you’re annoying.”

My laugh is forced. “My confidence is my warning label. If you can’t handle my attitude, you can’t handle this.” I put my hands in a V, framing my junk. And in a way, I’m not even lying.

The people willing to put in an effort with me have more of a chance of not walking out the next day after getting what they want from my body. Of course, this theory has never actually proven to be correct. Because they leave.

They always leave.

Or, I do before they can.

Self-preservation is a bitch.

“You’re so charming,” Aleks says. “What made me want to kiss you in the first place?”

It sounds like a joke, but I’m pretty sure I know the real answer.

“Because I’m familiar. You’re comfortable with me. And hey, if my spot on the team wasn’t on the line and you had more experience in the queer department, I’d jump on your dick so fast, you’d come immediately.”

Aleks throws his head back. “Is this what dating guys is like? All crude remarks and sex?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

He glances at me and smiles. “Nothing. I just want it.”

I snap my fingers. “Ooh, here’s an idea. Go out there and get it.”

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He turns back to his cubby and says under his breath, “Nah. I’m still too nervous.”

Okay, well, now I feel like a shit friend. I step forward, cupping the side of his face.

“What are you doing?” He tries to pull out of my grip, but I hold firm.

“Your first kiss with someone new should be a memorable and life-affirming one, and I couldn’t pull my best work out there. Maybe getting it out of the way will settle your nerves.”

Aleks bites his bottom lip. “And you’re okay with that?”

“It’s only a kiss, and if it’s anything like the one out on the ice, it’ll be like kissing my brother. Actually, I’m going to challenge my dick to try to get hard for you.”

Aleks grabs my jersey and twists it in his fists. “Just kiss me and get it over with, you jackass.”

“Ooh, name-calling helps.” It doesn’t. Everything south of the border is dead.

“Shut up.” Aleks cuts off another retort with his lips on mine, and while it’s … fine, and nice, and I give him my best work, it really is like kissing my brother.

He’s the one to break it, and as he does, he whispers a very faint “Thank you,” but it’s drowned out by the loud, booming voice at the door to the locker room.

“What the fuck is happening in here?”

Shit. Lane’s found me.