Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Shh. I didn’t think this was possible.”
“What?”
He removes his palm. “You. Being quiet for more than two minutes. It’s … peaceful.”
“I guess you know what you have to do to shut me up from now on.”
“Deal.”
We lock eyes, and for the first time, he doesn’t seem to be looking at me in annoyance or lust.
“Think you’re going to be able to keep up with me?” I ask. “If I’m not allowed to hook up with anyone else, you have to take care of my every whim.”
“I’m sure I can manage.”
Hmm, we’ll see about that.
When we get back to the hotel, we enter at the same time but are far enough away that it looks like we arrived separately.
He holds the elevator door open for me, but I turn in the direction of the reception desk.
“You go on up. I need to ask for extra towels. Kosik is a towel stealer.”
Anton smiles. “I never did trust that guy. Now I know why.” The doors close, and I beeline to the desk, where there’s a pretty receptionist.
“Can I help you, sir?” She overtly checks me over, and that’s how I know she has no idea who I am. She probably knows I’m with the team, but that’s it. Any hockey fan knows I’m gay.
I bring out my flirt A game. “Hey, I’m Anton Hayes. I’m here with the B’s? I was hoping you could do me a favor.”
“Anything, Mr. Hayes.”
“I want to wake up early to get in a workout before we leave for the next game in Arizona. It’s a grueling schedule.”
She nods sympathetically. “I bet it is. What time would you like a wake-up call? I can put it in the system.”
I pretend to think. “Four? Yeah, four a.m. sounds good to me.”
“Done. Four a.m. is a lot of dedication.”
“Thanks.” I give her a flirty wink as I walk away.
Just because Anton and I have decided to fuck on a regular basis, that doesn’t mean I don’t still owe him payback from that stupid cursed cat he left in my locker.
Happy morning wake-up call, jackass.
Twelve
ANTON
I’m jolted awake at way too early o’clock by the sound of the hotel phone.
“Wha’s happening?” Moreau says in his sleep, and I quickly roll over to answer.
“’Lo?”
“Good morning, Mr. Hayes. This is the wake-up call you ordered.”
I blink into the pitch-darkness of the room and catch sight of the glowing numbers on the clock. “Four a.m.?” My voice is gritty with sleep.
“That is the time you requested,” the bubbly voice says. “Enjoy your workout.”
She’s gone before I can question her further. I hang up the phone, completely confused.
Clearly, it wasn’t the wrong number if they knew my name and … workout? What’s going …
Fucking Ezra.
Extra towels. Sure. Right.
Asshole.
Moreau starts to snore again, but now my brain has clicked in, no attempts to fall back asleep work. I have a very good guess this is to get me back for the cat incident, but where that was all in good fun, this is cruel. He’s lucky the game is tomorrow, but we’ve got our practice skate at Gila River Arena later today. That isn’t going to be fun after a late night and an early morning.
Oh yeah, he’s going to pay for this.
An hour later, I’m still fighting sleep, so I figure I might as well do what she suggested and head down to the gym. It’s quiet, with only two other people there, one who clearly recognizes me by the way he trips over his feet on the treadmill.
I jump on a bike and put my AirPods in, hoping I won’t be distracted.
And even though it’s early, I’m humming with satisfaction.
Orgasms have a way of balancing out lack of sleep, and jerking off into Ezra’s mouth was one hell of a high.
My only regret from last night is shaming him about sleeping around. Random hookups are a fun time, but what else was I meant to say? That I’m a possessive motherfucker? I already told him I don’t share, which was close enough to the truth, but one of the main reasons I try to avoid anything serious is because it turns me into a spoiled brat of epic proportions.
My toys are mine.
I can only imagine the media shitstorm with them using my being gay as an excuse for my borderline possessive and unhealthy behavior. Sure, things are better for queer athletes now there’re a few of us in the NHL, but we’re still expected to toe that line of being gay while playing into het stereotypes.
It’s why Ezra gets so much attention for his antics.
We can be gay, but we need to either be in a committed relationship like Ollie Strömberg, or be a sweet, fun guy like Tripp Mitchell, or keep things out of sight and out of mind like me.
We’re not supposed to have a different guy in our beds every night.