Page 36 of My Pucking Crush

“There is,” I mutter.

“But it’s against me,” Max bites out at me. “Not them. They don’t need to worry about me, or for themselves. Some guys have wives and families.”

It’s an intelligent argument even if I see right through him. He just doesn’t want to share a room with me. For a moment, I consider if his objection is because of my confession. I have to respect that.

But Max gives up and shoves the door open, and surprisingly holds it for me.

“Thank you,” I say, passing him. “I didn’t ask for this arrangement, and I’m not sure why your coach wanted it. The hotel has decent security, and you’re surrounded by your guys.”

“Exactly.” He stalks into the room and then gasps. “What the fuck?”

I follow him and stop dead in my tracks.

There’s only one bed...

NINETEEN

Max

The universe is telling me something. This can’t all be fucking random.

“There’s a sofa,” Luca says, pointing.

“I wouldn’t call that a sofa. It’s an over-sized chair masquerading as one.” I let go of my suitcase and start emptying my pockets. A second later, I realize I dumped my shit all over the desk.

It’s a typical chain hotel room with a credenza for clothes that holds a television, and a writing desk with an ugly lamp.

I stare down at my phone, wallet, and the keycard. “Sorry. Habit. Madison usually uses the credenza for his stuff.”

“I don’t have a preference. I’m not here to make your life miserable,” Luca says, sounding pissed off.

The guy’s doing his job. He didn’t ask for this assignment. And it’s not his fault why he bothers me. Or maybe it is. Perhaps he should have told Beck and the GM that he’s gay, or bi, whatever, and it isn’t a good idea for him to be rooming with a player.

Only, that’s terribly unfair. And bias.

He’s been a gentleman. When he’s not eye-fucking me, even though I drink in his stare. He’s been professional, except when I ask him personal questions and he graces me with brutal and salacious honesty.

I consider my thought the other day, just let something happen between us. Test out who the hell I am. He’s leaving. Even if I decide to pursue guys full time, it won’t be with him.

My heart twitches, thinking that.

Fuck, this confusion is torture. And I don’t even know if he’s into me. Maybe the eye-fucking is just how he looks at people.

Why shouldn’t he be into me?

One second I’m pissed that he may want me, and the next, more pissed that he maynotwant me.

“You know what?” I step back and kick off my shoes. “This doesn’t matter. Sleep on the sofa, the floor, the bed, your call. We’re adults. I need a shower.”

Stripping in front of Madison never blipped my radar because we see each other in the locker room. It dawns on me that Luca has probably seen me naked. I’ve caught security around the locker room for reasons I never questioned. And never thought:What if they’re into dudes?

I’m fighting an attraction to men, but I’ve not wanted to fuck any of my teammates.

I strip out of my suit until I’m down to my briefs. Which have to go, and I mean in a broader sense because if I get hard around Luca, he’ll know.

But he’s ignoring me, opening his suitcase, and then hanging his suit jacket in the stand-up wardrobe next to the television.

I pass him and he turns. We collide and he jumps back.

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