Page 5 of Good Pucking Luck

I walk over to the window and look out at the city. It’s busy as always, a familiar smogginess to the air that honestly, I don’t notice most of the time. LA is home, and I’m sitting here staring out at the city below, trying to ignore the fact that I’m boring.

I’ve always been boring. That’s nothing new. I’ll probably always be boring, but it never bothered me until everything went down with Malcolm. He was able to take advantage of me because I am the way I am. I got so wrapped up in someonesimply because he wanted to spend time with me. Because I made myself believe I was in love with the first guy who showed me attention, the first guy I thought really liked me.

That truth pisses me off, goddamn it.

I want to do something totally out of the ordinary for me.

I want to have fun, want to…I don’t know, just go out and have sex with the first hot guy I see—well, one who is willing to have sex with me, that is.

I’m twenty-six years old. I should be going out and having fun. I should have had sex with more than two people before that asshole. I definitely shouldn’t ever trust another guy again. Instead, I should focus on finding a way to live my best life and have all the no-strings-attached sex I can.

I head back over to my desk, full of a new resolve that’s honestly a little weird and confusing, but at least it makes me feel like I’m doing something to not be the same man Malcolm took advantage of.

I log in to the hookup app I downloaded right after Malcolm and I broke up, which is the last time I told myself I was going to do this…and then I search online for the perfect guy to have a fun-filled night with—something Malcolm would never expect of me.

Only every guy I talk to is annoying for one reason or another. Either that or they’re not interested in me.

I scour the app for an hour before I get discouraged, put my phone away, and get back to work.

*

LAX isn’t myfavorite place to be, but considering I haven’t sprouted wings or learned to disappear from LA and reappear in Seattle, I don’t have much of a choice.

I’m sitting in my chair an hour before the flight is set to board. I don’t have it in me not to arrive at the airport much earlier than I technically have to be here. It’s too stressful. My laptop is on my lap, my fingers clicking away because if I’m going to be here, the least I need to do is get some work done, when suddenly I feel uncomfortable. Like I’m being watched.

When I tilt my head up, the guy across from me is looking straight at me. As soon as our gazes meet, he turns away.

Okay, well, that was strange, but it’s LA and people-watching is a thing, so I ignore it and get back to work.

The feeling doesn’t go away, though, and it’s hard to concentrate. It’s like I don’t fit in my own skin, which makes no sense, and when I peek up, this time less obvious, he’s looking at me again.

“Can I help you?” I ask, trying to ignore how I wish I could sink into the chair.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t…you’re him, right?” He smiles like he’s not randomly mentioning one of the most embarrassing moments of someone’s life to them. “You got Hayesed!” He chuckles, then holds his hand up like I would want to high-five him.

My blood runs cold, my whole body going stiff. No one is paying attention to us, but I feel like they are, like everyone is watching.

When I don’t lift my hand, he lowers his slowly. “Sorry.” He sinks back into his chair, and as pissed as I am at this random stranger, I’m pissed at myself too for not saying anything. For not telling him he’s a dick, and again I feel the fire in my belly that I had last night—not wanting to be this guy. Wanting to step out of my comfort zone and prove to myself that I’m not who Malcolm thought I was.

CHAPTER THREE

Rylan

Ican’t sleep,and considering we have a game tomorrow, that’s not good. We got to Seattle late this afternoon, went over film and had a healthy dinner, followed by—and this is a direct quote from Coach—“Keep your ass in the hotel. No going out to get laid.” Which really fucking sucks because getting laid would help me relax. Mads is snoring in the bed beside mine. He’d meditated and passed the fuck out, but I’m tossing and turning, with energy to burn and no real way to burn it.

I could rub one out. Mads sleeps like the dead, plus it’s not like we don’t know the other jerks off. But I’m not really in the mood for just a little self-love, so I slip out of bed, tug some joggers on, grab my shoes and socks, and sneak out. It’s eleven, so maybe the gym at the Rockwell is empty. I can walk or do a light jog on the treadmill to tire myself out.

I head to the elevator and hit the button for the eighth floor. We have a contract with the Rockwell hotels, and if we’re playing in a city where they have one, that’s where we stay.

Of course, when I arrive, the first thing I notice is a sign on the door that says the gym is closed for maintenance.

I know they have a bar on the roof. It’s risky because who the fuck knows if it’s busy or not, but I can take a peek…drink some water, and then maybe my brain will shut down enough that I can get some rest for the game tomorrow.

I go that direction despite the voice in my head telling me that if Coach or Volkov, our team captain, find out, they’ll kickmy ass. But I must admit that the rush of that possibility is exciting. Playing by the rules is boring.

I take the elevator to the roof, and it feels like I’m climbing Mount Everest, it takes so long, but finally it dings and the doors open to a familiar rooftop bar and restaurant. It’s partly covered, with a patio at the end with panoramic views of the city.

And it’s empty.

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