Page 10 of Stubborn Puckboy (Puckboys #9)

NINE

Novi

Oskar’s mouth gapes open and closed as his gaze pings between me and Kessinger.

The three of them together this late does look very suspicious, but because of my many conversations with Lane, I know it’s not what it looks like.

I’d opted to meet Oskar now because there are fewer eyes to see us, and even if I am not an actual Queer Collective member, I could not break Ezra’s heart by refusing.

It looks like they found a way to pass the time while they waited for me.

“Ah …” Oskar has progressed to noise now. Interesting. “Look. It’s Radimir Novicov. What a, umm, coincidence.”

“I know who I am.”

“At three thirty in the morning, it’s totally likely we’d run into each other by complete accident at the same bar in Anaheim.” Oskar’s had way too much alcohol.

“I’ll get us drinks,” I say.

When I get back to the table and hand them out, Oskar scoops his up and takes a large swig.

Then sprays it across the table.

“The fuck is that? Are you trying to poison me?”

“If I was trying to poison you, you’d be dead already.”

Kessinger takes a sip, and a relieved laugh falls from his lips. “It’s water.”

I take the seat across from Lane, which unfortunately puts me right next to Kessinger. Kessinger and his lemon tart scent. His too-broad shoulders. The searching gaze on the side of my face.

“So …” Lane studies me before glancing at Kessinger. “Neither of you look surprised to see each other.”

“Impossible. I am very surprised.”

“It’s not a threesome thing,” Kessinger hurries to say.

Oskar throws his hands up. “Why does everyone always make that assumption?”

Lane smirks. “I’ll give you a second to find that answer on your own.”

“It was one time.”

“One time on camera .”

Oskar takes another swig of his water like it’s hard liquor. “It’s not my fault that everyone wants to bone me.”

“It’s not.” Lane crooks a finger under Oskar’s chin and turns him so they’re facing each other. Then he kisses Oskar softly and says in a hushed voice, “I love you.”

My eyes immediately shoot away from them. The bar is nearly empty, with one drunk patron at the bar and two older men and one older lady, swaying and singing too loudly together on the dance floor. I study them until I’m sure it’s safe to look again without having to face everything I’ve never had.

“I know it’s not a threesome thing,” I say like nothing after that ever happened. “And Coach Kessinger knows about me.”

“Really?” Oskar’s eyebrows meet his hairline.

“ Coach Kessinger?” The man himself swings around to look at me. “What is that?”

“It’s who you are.” I can still feel his confusion as Lane takes over.

“I get the feeling there’s backstory we’re missing here.”

“Not much,” I say. “We played AHL together, were roommates, then he tried to make a move one night, and I panicked. Very standard stuff.”

“Standard? None of my teammates ever tried to make a move on me—well, other than Aleks,” Oskar says. “And I’m a thousand times hotter than you, Novi.”

“Disagree,” Kessinger immediately says, and my gaze shoots to him. He’s already grinning my favorite smile. “What? You’re not going to get all humble on me now, are you?”

Maybe not humble, but my face is heating. “You called me goofy.”

“That’s what does it for me.”

Someone kicks my foot under the table. “Colby’s pretty hot too, isn’t he?” Oskar prods.

“His face is not symmetrical,” I say, hating that somehow that only makes him hotter.

“Good season opener?” Lane asks, desperately trying to change the conversation.

He reached out to me after the Stanley Cup game last year, where I met most of the Queer Collective to offer his PR expertise.

We’ve had a lot of conversations about why I won’t come out, and he’s been unofficially keeping an eye out for any rumors about me.

If I wasn’t close to the end of my career and my agent wasn’t so good to me, I would have considered signing to King Sports for him alone.

“It was good,” I answer. “Beating you guys by one goal was a sweet victory.”

“Beating us by one goal when we had all our rookies out there isn’t a great sign for the season.”

“Don’t worry,” Kessinger says. “I have enough game tape from the rest of you that you’ll be begging to be beat by one goal next time we’re up against each other.”

“I’ll remind you of this conversation when we play a real game.”

Preseason might not count for standing, but it is a good way to get into the headspace you’ll carry through the whole season. Players can choose not to take these games seriously, but I always do. Whether it’s a fun match or preseason or playoffs, I play every game to win.

“Your knees were looking good,” Kessinger says, and I force myself to look at him again. No matter how much I don’t want to be doing that, he gets my attention back far too easily.

“Not old? ”

“I didn’t say that.” He props his head on his hand. “Still old. But much straighter.”

“I have been exercising.”

“Constantly.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

His gaze drifts slightly. “You haven’t changed, have you? You used to train like that when we played together. Always have to be the best.”

“If you’re not trying to be the best, why bother playing? Mr. number ten.”

“I dunno, some people play to have fun, Novi. Some people are happy for this to be their career; they don’t have to be the best at it.”

And that’s why teams lose games.

He laughs. “You’re thinking about how stupid those people are, aren’t you?”

“Da. So much for me being hard to read.”

“Your condescension comes through the loudest.”

“We’re going to head out,” Oskar says suddenly.

“If Ez asks, yes, I tried to convince you to officially join the QC. Told you it could be all hush-hush if needed and that there’s no being added to the group chat until you’re a member.

” He surprises me by looking at Kessinger.

“You too. If Ezra’s going to get a member in every team, he’s going to have to be a lot less picky about who qualifies.

The teams are made up of more than the people who end up on the ice. ”

“That’s very astute of you,” Lane says, standing and holding his hand out for his husband as he looks our way. “We’re practically neighbors, so let’s not wait until after a game and it’s close to sunrise to catch up again.”

It’s not until they’re halfway across the bar that it hits me that them leaving has left Kessinger and me alone. The realization sinks in slow and heavy until I’m sure he’s aware of it too.

“Are you in a hurry to run off?” he asks.

“Yes.”

The muffled chortle drags my attention back to him. “Can you not be in a hurry to run off?”

I shift, turning to face him, and my knee ends up resting against his. “Are you saying you want to hang out with me?”

“There’s no one here to freak you out. And if I have to wait until four in the morning in a dive bar to get your attention …” He shrugs. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“Why do you want to hang out with me?”

“We’re old friends.”

The challenging way he says that has the corner of my lips tugging upward. “And not because you think I’m more attractive than Oskar Voyjik?”

Kessinger fake gasps, hand over heart. “That almost sounds like you’re accusing me of flirting. I would never.”

“Never?” I give him a doubtful look.

“Fine. Never where someone might overhear us and jump to conclusions. Unlike now.”

Hearing that sets off something jittery inside me. Flirting is completely foreign to me, but knowing that someone wants to do it feels … nice. More than nice, actually. “What if I don’t flirt back?”

“I dare you not to.”

“Now who is the one that needs to be humbled?”

“Still you. Always you.” He turns fully, breaking the contact of our knees as he tucks his leg onto the booth between us. “Is my face really that unsymmetrical?”

“Very.” I can’t look at him as I add, “Makes it interesting.”

“I’ll take being interesting over boring any day.” He leans in. “So when did you start last-naming me?”

“What?”

“ Coach Kessinger ? Come on, half the team doesn’t even call me that.”

Of course he’d pick up on it. “You are coach.”

“Colby. You call me Colby. Otherwise I’ll have to start calling you Radimir.”

“Radimir is a great name.”

“It is. But now you’re Novi, and I’ve always been Colby. Why change it?”

I can skirt around the issue all night, or I can tell him the truth.

My usual tactics to avoid conversations won’t work.

He won’t give up if I switch the conversation to Russian before pretending to be tired.

He’ll probably follow me home and keep questioning me through my front door.

Colby’s always been an open guy, and our friendship bordered on something special before the night we ruined it all.

“It keeps you separate in my head,” I say. “Kessinger is my coach. He’s a professional. Colby is the man I used to jerk off over.”

He chokes on air, and as his surprise melts away, something more intense fills his eyes. “Used to?”

“Used to.” As much as I’ve wanted to touch myself over him since he came back into my life, I have refused.

“Can I … ask you something?”

“Da. I might not answer you though.”

He’s gorgeous when he smiles. The bow in his lips, his hard, scruffy jaw, and the cute lines that appear by his mouth. “You’ve been closeted this whole time … have you ever had a secret boyfriend?”

I let out a harsh breath. “Nyet.”

“NDAs exist. What about … hooking up?”

“I do not trust NDAs. It doesn’t silence people forever, and if your threat is not strong enough, people will still talk. I will not risk that.”

“Then …” He chews on the corner of his bottom lip. “What do you do for sex?”

“I just told you.”

“Jerk off?” His gray eyes are bright as they search mine. “Nah … there’s no way that’s all …” He inches closer. “You’ve got toys, don’t you?”

“A few.”

“Does that mean … have you really never been with … anyone?”

Most of the time, I don’t let people get this far into questioning me. It’s no one’s business who I have sex with or if I do at all, but with Colby , I think I want him to know. “Yes and no.”

“How can it be both?”

“I’ve never been with someone the way I want to. But I have found a system that works for me. Or … worked for me.”

“What was it?”

“I sometimes visit glory holes.”

“Huh.” Colby rubs his rough jaw. “That’s kind of hot. I’ve never done it.”

“Lucky you.”

“So why isn’t it working anymore?”

Because roughly five months ago, Westly Dalton reminded me that Colby Kessinger exists. “What about you?” I ask, ignoring the question. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“You mean you haven’t stalked me on social media?”

I tried, but his accounts are locked up and private. “Nyet.”

“Damn. I stalked you the second I was offered this job. Why do you want to know if I have a boyfriend?”

“We’ve established you don’t use glory holes, so I’m working backward with the same questions you asked me.”

“I asked if you had boyfriends—past tense. Not now.”

“How do you know I don’t have one now?”

This time when he leans closer, his leg presses up against my thigh, and that minor contact instantly has my body overheating. “Because I see the way you look at me, Novi. It’s the exact same way I look at you.”