Shameless Puckboy (Puckboys Book 3)

THE WEEK after All-Stars starts with an eight-day road trip. Normally, I don’t mind away games because we go out afterward as a team, whereas at home, the married guys are quick to run home to their families. On the road, we’re a unit. We play together, stay together, and eat meals together. Other than being with the Collective, it’s the only real sense of belonging I get.

It feels more permanent, even though it’s not with the constant rotating roster of players on any given team. I guess it’s that hockey and everything that goes with it is more stable than my sex life, and that’s why I push myself so hard to be the best.

This road trip though, I’ll be lucky if I’m even allowed out with the team. And if I am, Lane’s going to stay glued to my side the whole time. As much as I like teasing him, I do know where the line is, and undermining him in front of the team is something I wouldn’t do.

In front of the Collective? Sure. But I only want to mess with the guy. I don’t actually want to do serious damage to his career. Or his reputation.

As I get on the team bus taking us to the airport to fly to Detroit, I take a seat next to Aleksander Emerson. I’ve roomed with him a couple of times, and he’s the perfect roommate. He’s laid-back and doesn’t get involved in drama. He’s happy for me to do my thing, and he doesn’t pester me with questions or lecture me. He never goes out because he has a wife at home, and I like that he’s just … there. He has a calming presence about him.

At least, he usually does.

I stare at his dark and messy hair that’s normally styled neatly, his overgrown beard that’s generally trimmed to show off his amazing bone structure. His green eyes are dull, and the bags under them belong in the undercarriage of the bus with the rest of our luggage.

“Rough night?”

He lacks his usual happiness. “Rough month, really.”

Where has my head been? Oh, right. Up my own ass. I wait for him to elaborate, and he must feel my gaze burning into him because he meets my eyes and sighs.

“Rebecca and I are getting a divorce.”

In the aisle, Lane is passing us and practically trips over his own feet. Then he narrows his eyes at me. “What did you do, Voyjik?”

“Why do you think I did anything?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry. I heard something that could be a PR nightmare and automatically assumed. Carry on. But, uh, Emerson, come see me when you get a chance.” Lane keeps moving and takes a seat a few rows behind us.

Aleks casts his eyes downward. “And now it’s really official.”

“Haven’t you guys been married since high school?”

“Kinda. Well, not married since then but together since then. She’s the only person I’ve ever been with, and so it’s … yeah. Been rough. Especially with still living under the same roof, but that’s going to change soon.”

“There’s no chance of working it out?” Now is not the time to go into my “monogamy is bullshit” spiel, even if it’s on the tip of my tongue. I’m reckless, not an asshole.

“We’ve been in couples’ counseling for over a year. You know things are bad when even your therapist suggests you’re a lost cause.”

“They actually said that? Are they allowed to do that?”

He waves me off. “That’s paraphrasing, but yeah, that’s where we’re at. Somewhere along the way, being married to a hockey player became too hard for her.”

“At least you don’t have kids?”

“That was part of the problem. She’s ready for them now. I’m … not. I don’t know if I ever will be. And before you say anything, I know we should have had that conversation before we got married, but we were so young when we tied the knot we didn’t talk much about anything. Eight years of marriage, ten of being together … It feels like a waste.”

I nudge him. “The minute you’re ready to get back out there, I’ll take you out and be your wingman. You don’t even need to worry about me undercutting you because we’re not in the same competition.”

Something brief but telling crosses Aleks’s face, but I don’t call him on it. Again, not an asshole. “Sounds good, man.”

“That’s if, you know, my jailer will set me free.” I thumb in Lane’s direction.

Aleks laughs. “What’s up with that anyway?”

“Team management is a teeny bit mad that I am a single gay man flaunting my gayness for everyone to see.”

Lane pops up behind us. Of course he fucking does. Wasn’t he sitting a few rows back two seconds ago? “It’s not your gayness they have a problem with. It’s the public nudity and sex.”

“Which is my gayness. My dick is even gayer than my brain.”

“Somehow, I think your dick is your brain,” Lane says.

Aleks laughs again. “You know what? I’m starting to feel a whole lot better about my divorce now.”

“Because I’m awesome and cheered you up?” I ask.

“No. Because if I thought my life was sad, I really only need to look at you. You’re a hotshot famous hockey player who needs a babysitter.”

“In my defense, when I’m left unsupervised, I make poor decisions. Fun decisions, but to the detriment of my career, it seems.”

“And mine,” Lane adds.

I turn to him. “Do you mind? We’re having a private conversation.”

“Oh, so conversations you want to keep quiet, but sex is okay to be put out there for everyone to see?”

“Yup. Keep up.”

Aleks huffs beside me. “Is this what I have to look forward to being single?”

Lane reaches over the seats and squeezes Aleks’s shoulder. “Just don’t have sex in public, and you’ll have no problem with me.”

“Excuse me, I haven’t had sex in public in weeks. Why haven’t you left me alone yet?”

“Because the minute I do, I know you’ll go out and do it again.”

I open my mouth to protest but really can’t. “Okay, fair.”

“For the rest of the season, you have one job,” Lane tells me. “Hockey.”

Luckily, I’ve got that covered.

I don’t have it covered.

At least, not tonight. We’re down by one in the third, but the only reason it’s one and not four is because our offense is kicking ass. It’s a high-scoring game on both sides, and it’s 6-5 on the scoreboard.

Aleks may be getting a divorce, but it’s not affecting his game. Actually, he might even be on a streak because of it. Something to prove or getting out his marital anger, I’m not sure. But it works for him.

Me, on the other hand, my lack of action off the ice is making me too stiff on it. I need release, and by something that’s not my own hand. It’s not enough. I’ve let way too many Detroit forwards get a shot on goal, and our goalie, Glover—nicknamed that because he’s usually so good with his glove—can only take so much.

Tonight is too much for him, thanks to me.

So when I let another guy past me, and he scores, the game is all but over. The minutes tick down to seconds, and then the finality of the buzzer seals it.

The usual disappointment of a loss cuts through me and the rest of the team, and we leave the ice with our heads hanging down.

We’re on track to at least make the playoffs this season, unlike Tripp and Dex, who have no hope, so the loss isn’t a big setback, but it still stings like a bitch and isn’t a great omen for the rest of the road games coming up. We still have Pittsburgh, Washington, Columbus, and St. Louis to go before we make our way back home.

We do the media thing where we keep our chins up and our battered pride hidden away, cool down, shower, and then climb onto the bus to take us to the hotel.

When Aleks joins me, I smile up at him. “You played amazing tonight.”

“Shame the rest of the team couldn’t get on my level.”

Ah, there’s the guy I know. Confident and easy.

“It’s not my fault,” I say.

“Is anything ever your fault?”

“Hey, I totally own up to my mistakes and take responsibility for my actions. But this is actually not my fault.”

“How so?”

“I haven’t been laid in forever, and it’s killing me. I need to be loose on the ice, not sexually frustrated.”

“Sounds legit,” Aleks deadpans. “Trust me, you can play good hockey without getting your rocks off beforehand. I speak from experience. Actually, my game has improved since Rebecca and I finally decided to call it quits.”

“Celibacy is not for me. It’s unnatural.”

“How acephobic of you.”

I reword for clarity. “For a healthy, allosexual male, it’s unnatural for me to go this long without getting off with someone.”

Snickers come from the guys sitting in the same general vicinity as us, and I guess I wasn’t as quiet as I thought we were being.

I lift my head and address the whole group. “Don’t snicker like you guys don’t know what I’m talking about. How horny are all you monogamous people going to be after these eight days?”

There are murmurs of agreements between the guys with wives and girlfriends, though I know not all of them are faithful.

I settle back in my seat. “See? Unnatural.”

The ride back to the hotel is short, and when we all get off the bus and wait for our gear bags to be unloaded from underneath, I keep an eye out for Lane. But when I don’t see him, I figure he must have gone straight up to the room. I didn’t see him enter the hotel, but he could have easily slipped by us.

That’s the other thing I hate about this arrangement. On the road, I’m now rooming with Lane. If I wasn’t already sexually frustrated enough, sleeping in the same room as him was torture last night. Maybe that’s why I played so shit today. I was up half the night listening to him breathing. Wanting to climb out of my bed and into his. Telling myself the sooner I stop being a dickhead toward him, the looser the collar might get.

Ooh, him putting me on a leash sounds hot.

No. This is my problem. I have to stop thinking about Lane in that way.

When I get up to the room, and he’s not there either, that side of me that always does what it’s not supposed to gets a little too excited about maybe, possibly, being able to get out tonight. I won’t need long. Just enough time to get my dick sucked.

I’m still contemplating it when the door clicks and opens.

Lane enters with a small bag, and he throws it at me. “You complained, and I delivered.”

“What is—” I reach inside the bag and pull out … a vibrator?

“You told the entire bus you needed to be fucked. So there. Go fuck yourself. You’re welcome.”

I blink at him, stunned. “You going to leave me alone to do it, or are you finally giving in to your urges to stay in here and watch?”

“It’s cute you think I’m leaving you alone for a second. If I go down to the bar and give you twenty minutes to get yourself off, you’re going to disappear on me. Bathroom is right there.” He points. “Have fun.”

Fun? Oh, he has no idea how fun I’m going to make this.