Shameless Puckboy (Puckboys Book 3)

I’M ready to take everything Oskar has to throw at me … I just didn’t realize that would include listening to him every night, giving his hand a pep talk as he rubs one out. If I have to hear, “Oh, yeah, baby, harder. Just like that. Bit more …” one more time, there’s no telling what I might do.

My only comfort is that a jury would undoubtedly be on my side.

“So sorry I couldn’t spring for your ticket,” Oskar says from his seat across the airport table. “But at least you can enjoy the first-class lounge before you’re relegated back to coach. San Jose are cheap bastards, aren’t they? Just because this isn’t a team-sanctioned trip, that doesn’t mean you should have to deal with being squished into the back of a plane like sardines in a can.”

We’re on our way to visit this orgy collective in Boston for All-Stars week, and as much as Oskar’s been insisting he can go alone, I’m not dumb enough to fall for it. My other PR members might have been trusting, but I am not.

It’s been a peaceful ten minutes while Oskar stuffed his face with all the food he could find and I got to enjoy my coffee in peace. Now, it seems he’s back, and I get to deal with … him.

It’s no puzzle to me why all my guys have failed when it comes to Oskar—he’s annoying as fuck—but for some reason, I find his wild personality entertaining. I’ve known a few fuckboys like Oskar in my time, and while those men are people I try not to think about often, they taught me how to deal with entitled hockey players. It probably helps that he hasn’t tried to sneak out or throw some wild house party, even though I’ve been ready for both of those things to happen.

He’ll try it at some point—it’s only a matter of time.

And I’ll be ready for him when he does.

Our flight is called, and Oskar jumps up to board with a smug look thrown my way. I let him go ahead and give him all of five minutes to disappear and enjoy his superiority before I pick up my carry-on and follow.

If I thought he could be trusted around anyone on board this flight, I would have been happy in coach and enjoyed the next five hours of peace. But if the past PR reps have taught me anything, it’s that you can’t leave Oskar’s side. Not even when you’re thirty thousand feet in the air. And the look on Oskar’s face as I arrive at his row and come to a stop might be worth the next few hours of pain.

I keep eye contact as I shove my bag in the overhead compartment with one hand and wave my company credit card at him with the other. “Like I said, San Jose is prepared to do anything.”

And maybe I should be concerned by the calculating look that crosses his face, but he wouldn’t be Oskar if he didn’t rise to the challenge. I have to make sure I’m a match for him.

Let’s face it—at this point, I don’t have much to lose.

I take the seat across the aisle from him and watch as he shoves the headphones over his messy hair. Thank God. Guess that means we’re back on quiet time.

While he plots, I pull out my laptop, prepared to spend the next few hours catching up on work. Oskar isn’t the only guy on our team, and he isn’t the only idiot either. For the others though, their headlines usually come down to alcohol, dumbassery, or accidents. Oskar … well, he doesn’t fall into any of those categories, but I’m still trying to figure out why he’s so blasé about risking his career.

Is it arrogance? Issues with authority? Or does he have some kind of sex addiction that can only be filled in public?

“Hey, boyfriend?” The rumble in Oskar’s voice is pure sex, and I can’t stop myself from looking over. He’s pushed back one of the earpieces on his headphones, and as soon as he has my attention, his grin is automatic. “You answered that time.”

“This time, we’re in public, and when it’s a choice between causing a scene or letting you quietly be ridiculous, I’m paid to do the latter.”

“Does that mean we can go back to Daddy if I’m quiet?”

I shake my head. “Even San Jose doesn’t pay me that well.”

He sniggers, and it’s a fight to keep my passive expression. I’ve done well over the last week to act completely closed off, even when I was dying inside to return his flirting. The way I see it, at the office is fine because it’s a controlled environment where nothing could happen, but in his house? I might be strong-willed, but even I have my limits.

“Did you want something?” I ask.

“Oh, right. The guys. While Anton is away, Ez gets to play, and Tripp loves to share Dex around. You’ll probably get an eyeful while we’re there, and it’s totally up to you if you choose to join in or watch. Though … the idea of you watching …” He pretends to drool, and I pretend to be exasperated, even as that plants tempting images in my head.

“As long as nothing ends up online, your sex collective can do whatever it likes. I’m sure I’ll have work to do in the meantime.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to hook up?”

“You’re not. But as they’re all within the league and I’m in contact with their own PR reps, this is as controlled of an environment as we’re going to get. You better make good use of your time because it’s the last you’ll have in a while.”

Oskar rubs his hands together like he’s excited, but if I thought for one moment that we were heading to an all-out gang bang within the NHL, there’s no way I’d have let him get on the plane.

After he mentioned this collective, I’ve been looking into the other members, and from what I can tell, Tripp and Dex are more loving and monogamous than any couple I’ve met, and he can pry Ezra out of Anton’s cold dead hands.

I could be wrong, but after talking with Boston’s and Las Vegas’s PR reps, I highly doubt that I am.

The rest of our flight is spent with Oskar trying to get a rise out of me and me ignoring him in favor of work. The only time I look up is when Oskar’s telling the flight attendant what nice arms he has. The poor guy blushes to his hairline, but there’s no risk there other than Oskar’s wounded pride when he completely strikes out.

We land and I let Oskar go first, but as he passes, he leans in to whisper, “Last chance to join the Mile High Club.”

“Way too late. I’ve been a member for years.”

He finds that hilarious, like he thinks I’m lying, and keeps walking, pausing long enough to flirt with the flight attendant again, which gets him a solid shove to the middle of his back from me.

“Seem a bit jealous there, boyfie,” Oskar says as we’re walking through the terminal.

I scoff. “Jealous of what, exactly?”

“My flirting. But don’t worry, there’s enough of the ol’ Voyjik charm to go around.”

“Flirting? Ouch. If that was flirting, I seriously question how you’re in the tabloids so often.”

“But you don’t deny I have charm?” He rubs the scruff on his jaw. “That’s interesting.”

“I didn’t deny it because it goes without saying.”

“That you’re falling in love with me? I agree, but whoa, slow down there, Hoss. I only want you for your body.”

Even with how hard I’m trying, an exasperated breath leaves me. Do not engage, do not engage.

The mantra repeats through my mind as we take a car from the airport and Oskar directs the driver the long way to the hotel he’s made a reservation at.

“It’s Oskar’s sex in this city tour,” he says. “It’s going to be a ton of fun, and the best part is, we get to take it every time we travel. Okay, so right there was the time when …”

If I’d thought getting away for a few days would quell my urge for murder, I was wrong.

When we finally arrive, we barely have enough time to drop off our bags before we leave again. Our hotel is close to where Ezra Palaszczuk lives, and on the walk there, finally, Oskar is silent.

Which would be a good thing if it wasn’t for the way his lips keep twitching like he wants to smile. The whole change in attitude is putting me on high alert.

The doorman doesn’t question us as we walk in and take the elevator to Ezra’s floor.

“How often do you come here?” I ask.

“We try to make our orgies a twice-yearly thing, at least.”

I don’t respond because I don’t need to call him out on the lie when the next five minutes will do it for me.

Only when Oskar raps his knuckles on the door, and it’s thrown open to reveal Palaszczuk himself, I’m suddenly scared I’ve gotten this completely wrong.

Ezra locks eyes with Oskar, running a hand down his shirtless chest. “Thank fuck. I’ve been ready for you all morning.” His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and my gaze flies to Oskar’s face, where I find him eyeing Ezra hungrily.

Oskar steps forward and grabs a handful of Ezra’s ass, hauling him close. When he replies, his voice is even deeper than usual. “I’ll make it up to you, baby.” He bites his ear. “I know what you like.”

What the hell have I gotten myself into?