Page 12 of Stubborn Puckboy (Puckboys #9)

ELEVEN

Novi

Normally, my English is impeccable, so it takes me a minute to realize I am stuck on one word. “Locked?”

Kessinger groans, dropping his back against the door. “The door is busted. Can you call someone to come and let us out?”

“No.” I pat my pockets, knowing full well that Pala-sook annoyed me, so I buried my phone—and him—deep in my gear bag. “Where is your phone?”

“On my desk.”

“Well, we are out of the shit luck.”

“Do you mean shit out of luck?”

I struggle to keep my amusement down. That is second tally for him. “Someone will come looking soon. We are supposed to be on the ice in fifteen minutes.”

“And you really think they’re going to be looking for you in a storage closet?”

“There are stranger things.”

Kessinger smiles suddenly, and I forgot how easily that crooked smile captivates me. “You should be used to being in the closet.”

“Very snug in here.”

“Snug? Feels claustrophobic to me. If we’d hooked up, I would have been forced back in here. No, thank you.”

I lean my shoulder against the door next to him. “You say that like it was an option.”

“We both know if I’d kissed you, it would have happened.”

Those simple words make my brain a mess. Kessinger has very kissable lips, and I’ve wondered so many times before today what they might feel like. “And we both know,” I murmur, “if it had happened, it would have been worth hiding back in the closet for.”

“Why are you such an asshole?” he asks in a strangled voice.

“I am stating facts.”

“Facts, huh?” His challenging stare meets mine. “Super confident of you to assume you’ll be good in bed when you’ve never actually done it before.”

“I have nice dick.” It amuses me the way his eyes widen.

Then he buries his face in his hands with a laugh. “You can’t say that, Novi.”

“Why not, Kessinger?”

“Quit it with the last name, first of all. And second, you can’t because … because …”

I catch on. “Because it turns you on?”

He waves a finger between us. “You really saying you get nothing out of standing this close to me?”

I could lie, but the hunger in my gut when I look at him says otherwise.

I’ve never had someone I can flirt with like this, both because I’ve never trusted anyone enough and I’ve never been so attracted to someone that I want to.

I’ve thought a lot about it lately. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t found teammates attractive in the past, even ones I roomed with, but the difference is that those attractions could die quickly because I never sensed anything back from them.

With Colby, I could feel it. Maybe subconsciously, but it was like my body knew what my brain didn’t.

And now that my body and my brain know both of the same things, every day is a struggle to keep myself from seeking him out. I get high from these small moments together.

“I am a master at self-control,” I say.

“You might need to teach me some of that because avoiding you only goes so far.”

Feeling evil, I can’t help taunting him. “Remember that time when half the team came down with stomach flu?”

Colby’s eyes narrow.

“I picture you hugging toilet, and it’s enough to cool me off.”

“Still not fair that you somehow escaped that,” he says.

“My stomach is pure vodka.”

“You were only twenty.”

“I have had it in a bottle since I was small baby.”

It takes him a second. “It’s truly terrifying how easily you bullshit like that.”

“I don’t get to do a lot that makes me happy, so I have to make do with teasing. People make it too easy.”

Some of the tension between us lessens. “I’m sorry. That’s stupid.”

“It is.”

“I wish … I wish I could help.”

There is one way he could help. One way I’ve been thinking about over and over. The burning I feel to touch him, to spend the night wrapped around him, is not like anything I’ve experienced. To get that, just once, would be enough to tide me over forever.

Or ruin me forever.

Waiting until my career is over really should be that easy.

I have done it for half of my life already.

What’s two more years? Unfortunately, Colby Kessinger has given meaning to time, and a day might as well be a year.

A year might as well be infinite. How do I wait when the urge to touch him in this moment is already too strong?

“Maybe I quit,” I say. “Maybe I move to mountains and drag you with me.”

His lips tick up. “This is one of those moments you’re supposed to smile, or it sounds like a threat.”

“Who says it’s not?”

Our eyes catch, and he gives me one of our endless moments.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he warns.

“I can’t.”

“You control your face better than anyone I know.”

“Ty zastavlyaesh’ menya poteryat’ kontrol’.” You make me lose control. My voice is so husky I barely recognize it.

“Novi …”

With a mouth dry like the desert, I lift my hand. It shakes as it creeps closer to his face, desperate to feel his jaw under my fingertips. Does it feel as hard as it looks? Is his skin scratchy? Smooth? Will my touch do anything to him?

He’s completely frozen, and his gaze searches my face as I concentrate on that one small stretch of skin I’m an inch away from. Getting closer. Heart erratically aware of the intentional way I’m about to touch him.

Then I’m falling.

Literally .

I scramble for footing as light blasts over us, and I go ass over. I collide with Colby on the way down, both of us a scrambling mess of limbs until my shoulder and hip land hard.

Our legs are tangled together, and it takes me a moment of panic to get away and push to my feet.

Colby’s still sprawled on the hallway floor, gaze in shock and hair a mess, while Ackerman gapes.

“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to be leaning against the door. And … Novi?”

I turn on my heel and stalk away. My whole face is flushed, and the speed my heart is running at has reached unhealthy levels.

There is no way I could stand around and answer questions about why I was in that room after the sudden way I was pressed up against Kessinger.

I felt leg and muscle and chest, and maybe too many other things that my brain isn’t processing.

That was very, very stupid.

And I’m worried it won’t be the last time.

Landers, one of my new linemates, sets a round of drinks down on the table. “Your slapshot tonight was something else,” he says to me.

It was an easy win against Chicago, in large part because all the tension I have no outlet for had nowhere to go, so Chicago took the brunt of it.

I’ve considered resorting to old habits to get some of this sexual tension out, but a glory hole makes me feel more frustrated. It’s not only the orgasm that I want.

A message comes through as my team starts talking about the game, and I pull my phone out, expecting to see it’s from Ezra.

Whoever it is, I don’t have their number saved in my phone.

With a quick glance around the table, I open the message with the screen in close.

It’s a video. I tap it to play and watch footage from tonight’s game, where Bauer crushes me up against the boards. His forearm presses across my chest, and … the way he keeps shoving me almost looks like he’s thrusting against me.

I read the message that came with it, and the pieces click into place.

Unknown:

Should I be jealous?

There’s only one person this could be. Normally I hate typing in English and do everything I can to avoid it, but there are too many people here to talk out loud.

There is a large difference between speaking a language, reading a language, and then writing in a language.

English barely makes sense half of the time when it is spoken, so when it comes to spelling, it is a mess.

Bauer nd I r very close.

Unknown:

Your knees were worse tonight. Is he the reason?

Me:

Da. He would not stop pownding me.

Unknown:

You call that a pounding? He needs work.

“Look at that smile.”

I glance up to find Turkey, Landers, and Everly all watching me. The happiness immediately drops from my face. “What are you talking about?”

“You were smiling,” Landers pushes. “I know because it’s the first time I’ve ever seen it.”

“Lies. I smile plenty.”

“I legitimately thought you were plotting my murder the first few times we trained together.”

“I might be plotting your murder now.” I force a broad smile, but the three of them recoil. “ What ?”

They eye me with concern.

“That was happy !”

“Novi, my man,” Turkey says, slinging his arm over my shoulder. “I don’t know what that was, but happy wasn’t even close.”

I shrug him off, and it takes a second to work out he’s trying to peek at my phone. “Don’t snoop.”

“We want to know who she is. This is a big moment. I’ve been on your team for three years, and I’ve never seen you interested in anyone.”

Because I have never been interested in anyone. It did cross my mind a few times to pretend to be dating someone. To find a beard. Besides not wanting to drag someone else into my mess, it also would mean more attention, and I’m very happy only being talked about on the ice.

Some of my other teammates have whole internet sites dedicated to them. Have fan accounts that track their every life moment, post rumors and conspiracy theories. The few I’ve seen made in my name are very boring.

“It was news article about how I am the best on the team and everyone else is terrible.” Their eye rolls amuse me. “It had lots of good points and evidence. I was smiling at how LA is absolutely nothing without me and the rest of you suck.”

Turkey’s lips flatten disapprovingly. “Figures you’d get all lovesick over work. Bet you jerk off over the thought of pucks and your skates. Do you do it in your full uniform too?”

“Nyet.”

They laugh.

“I do it in yours.”

Turkey scoops an ice cube out of his drink, and I only narrowly avoid it hitting me as he flings it my way.

“And that is why you did not score tonight. Horrible aim. Maybe you should jerk off over pucks as well.”

“The fact I never know when you’re joking is a real problem.”

This time, my grin is a real one. “Problem for you.” I shoot my drink as another text comes through. “Ah. That is another article about my supreme skill. Excuse me as I read more about how I am the best in the universe.”

A barrage of ice hits my back as I walk away.

I will miss their love when I retire.