Page 19 of Good Pucking Luck

“You were at a game.”

“Because Malcolm liked hockey, and I was trying to be a good boyfriend. I don’t want to talk about ass-face, though. My issue now is just publicity. And I thought you knew who I was and were playing games with me.”

Rylan nods, and I’m grateful he seems to accept my answer and doesn’t push to go into more detail. This situation has been embarrassing enough. I can’t believe I came over here—or that I found his address illegally through hotel records. My dad will kill me if he finds out.

“I’ll reiterate one last time that I was with you because I wanted to be and not for any other reason. It was seriously hot as hell, which I already said.”

My stomach gets a light, fluttery feeling. I’ve never had someone tell me I’m good at sex before. The limited amount of sex I’ve had has been…okay sex. I hoped it was better for the other guys, but they never told me it was, so how can I know? “Really?” I ask, then wish I could snatch the word back.

“Fuck yes. But I’m not going to stand here and build up your ego.”

I try not to smile. “Technically, you’re sitting.” I struggle to ignore the way the flutter of excitement in my gut grows. I felt like I was a sex god myself the night we spent together, and I can’t pretend something about his response to me today doesn’t make me feel the same again. Rylan seems to want me. It makes absolutely no sense, but I’m not about to argue or expand on all the reasons I’m probably not all that great at sex, or being a boyfriend, or maybe even being a friend. I don’t have many of those either.Which is one of the reasons Malcolm chose you. He knew you’d be an easy mark.I try to push those thoughts out of my head.

“So…how is it going?” Rylan asks.

I study him, feel my forehead wrinkle slightly. Are we talking like friends now? This situation is confusing, and I can’t figure out what to make of it. “My life in general? Not great.”

“No. The having-all-the-sex thing. Last time we talked, you were going to start randomly hooking up with a bunch of hot guys, but then of course you’d be disappointed because none of them would be as good as me.”

“I don’t believe I said the last part.”

“I read between the lines.” He smirks.

God, he’s annoying. And really fucking sexy. He’s wearing a dumb Los Angeles Rebels T-shirt, but it’s tight against his pecs and muscular arms. I’ve never been much of a chest man, but then, I’ve never been up close and personal with a hockey player until Rylan either. He shifts, his hand rubbing along his left pec. He’s not even trying to be sexy, just scratching it, but it has blood rushing to my groin. What is it about this guy?

I try to get my mind off his body and back on the conversation. “Honestly, it’s not as easy as I thought it would be.” I’m not sure why I say that, why I’m being honest with him,but maybe it goes back to what I was thinking before getting distracted by his physique—how I don’t really have any friends. I don’t talk to anyone about friend-type stuff. It’s why I ignored the message from Donovan. I don’t know what he wants from me or what we’ll get out of meeting up to talk about how we all got used by the same asshole. All I want is to forget Malcolm, and hanging out with the other Jilted Exes won’t help with that.

“Really?” There’s genuine shock in his voice.

I scoff. “Not all of us look like you!” Goddamn it. He got me to compliment him again.

“And that’s what exactly?” Rylan waggles his brows at me, and I pull the chair pillow from behind my back and throw it at him. He catches it easily, laughing. “I’m giving you shit. Just tell the guys you have magic cum. That’ll help.”

I suck in a sharp breath and somehow choke on it, coughing embarrassingly and almost dying. When I manage to get myself under control, I ask, “Magic cum?”

“At least for me. Like I said earlier, I played like a god after we hooked up, and ever since then I’ve been shit.”

I wait for the punchline. Wait for him to show any sign that he’s joking, but nothing comes. “Are hockey players really this superstitious?” is what I settle on rather than asking him about my magic cum. Honestly, I can’t pretend I don’t like the sound of that.

“We follow the facts, and the facts are you’re carrying some superjuice around in those balls of yours…at least when it comes to me. Maybe don’t try it with another hockey player. But then once it wears off, it’s a talent sucker.”

I try to be annoyed by the last part, but all I can think about is this gorgeous man believing there’s something special about my load and—

“Oh my God, Hayes. Stop grinning. It’s fucking with my life! When does the bad luck wear off? Would you consider bottling it up and selling it?”

The ridiculousness of his words isn’t lost on me, but my brain snags on what he’s really saying…or what he could be saying. Maybe he would be down with hooking up again, which would be kind of perfect. I’ve never been confident when it comes to hitting on guys, hooking up, or having sex. I’ve always thought I must be shit at it, but Rylan acted like I was the Wayne Gretzky of blowjobs—I’m pretty sure that’s the famous hockey player’s name. Being with Rylan was a huge confidence boost. If we hooked up again, I could kill two birds with one stone. I could proceed with my plan of having no-strings-attached sex,just because I can. And I could also build up my sexual confidence, get more experience, and then when I finally do have sex with someone else, they’ll be amazed by my skills, and no one will ever cheat on me again—not that I ever plan to have a relationship again.

“What if we try it again?” I ask, not beating around the bush. This doesn’t have to be more than it is. I’m not asking to marry the guy. I’m making something like a business arrangement with him. “It makes sense. We can have sex again, and you can see if my cum really does carry…” I wave my hands back and forth. “Whatever you think it carries. Hockey juice. And I can have more commitment-free sex. If it works out as well the second time, then maybe we can come up with some kind of arrangement.”

“A sex arrangement?”

“You don’t have to make it sound dirty.”

“How else am I supposed to make it sound? And honestly, dirty sex is the best sex, so that’s not a bad thing.”

I try not to blush, but I feel heat rise to my cheeks. My cock twitches behind my slacks in this way I’ve neverreally experienced with anyone before. Hearing him say that is exciting. Sex has always been this awkward thing that never made me feel as wild as it did everyone else.

“We’re getting off sex here—track—off-track. Same thing, I guess, since the track is sex, but you know what I mean. It works. You like my cum, and I want to hook up with random guys, but since that didn’t work, maybe I can try it with one random guy over and over again.” My logic is flawed, but I’m hoping he doesn’t call me on it. All this makes sense in my head.

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