Page 54 of Good Pucking Luck

“You said that when we were having it, but you also called me baby and then said that baby was just sex talk, so I thought maybe…”

Shit. I walked into that one, didn’t I? “I swear to you, you’re incredible in bed. Why would I keep coming back for more if you weren’t?” I lift up slightly, resting on my elbow and running my fingers through his hair. “What did The Prick use to say to you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Please? I’m fluttering my lashes again. You just can’t see in the dark.”

He gives me a soft snicker in response. “He wasn’t blatantly verbally abusive or anything…it’s just the way he made me feel. Or things like, if I didn’t come when he fucked me, it was my fault. He’d never had a problem making someone have an orgasm before. When he wasn’t in the mood, that was my fault too. Really, I know it’s because he was sleeping with however many other people, but he would find small ways to blame me and then tell me it’s okay because he still cared about me or still wanted to be with me, like he was doing me a favor, and then it would just make me feel like I was so lucky to have him.”

I have to bite my tongue so I don’t say what I really want to say. That I’d like to find Malcolm and beat the shit out of him—this coming from a guy who isn’t violent except when I have to throw hands on the ice.

“None of that is true, Hayes. Those are manipulation tactics. I’m not like that. I won’t ever play games with you. I’ll always tell you the truth, okay?” I rub my cheek against his, kiss the soft skin there. I like the feel of his smoothness against my roughness.

“I can’t figure out why I talk to you like this.”

“It’s because I’m awesome.”

I feel his smile more than I see it in the dark. “I never would have known. You’ve never told me that before.”

“I’m a humble guy, what can I say?”

Hayes is quiet for a moment, and I keep running my fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp. This is nice. I’m not the kind of guy who kicks people out of bed after we finish having sex, but I also don’t lie around caressing them, talking to them, and just being open and real with them either.

Eventually I lay my head down again, but then he says, “I, um…I like this. I’m glad we’re doing it. Not just the sex, but the friendship. I’m probably not very good at telling you, so I figured I would do it now, after you fucked my brains out, which clearly gives me loose lips.”

I laugh, but my heart is beating too fast, feeling soft, which is confusing and doesn’t make any sense. Things feel like they’re shifting around inside me, and that’s a frightening thought. “First, I told you I’d fuck your brains out. Second, I like this too. I’m glad we’re doing it, and third, even when you don’t tell me, I see that you like me.” Because for some reason, I get Hayes. I understand him. He doesn’t have to use words to tell me how he feels.

“Good night, Rylan.”

“Night, cutie.”

*

“Sorry about themess. Hayes just left a little while ago,” I tell my parents as they walk through the front door and into the living room. The house isn’t that bad, but I haven’t had the chance to do dishes yet after Hayes spent the night last night. He’s been doing that a lot over the last month. He never has me at his place because he lives in a building with a doorman, and seeing me coming and going would draw attention.

Or so Hayes thinks.

And honestly, he’s probably right. The thing is, I don’t care if people know we’re friends, but I can see why that might worry him. I haven’t been through what he’s been through. When the media has something to say about me, it’s because I had a bad game—which hasn’t happened much since we started sleeping together. The first time we lost a game, he was convinced our deal was over, but again, it’s not as if I expected to be undefeated once we started this, but he’s definitely a good-luck charm for me.

But yeah, the online stuff with him was personal in a different way. And if I was sleeping over at his place, it would look to others like we’re more than friends—something I don’t want to deal with either three months before the cup finals, so I guess he’s right.

“No worries,” Mom says as we meet in the middle of the living room.

I kiss her cheek, then look over her shoulder toward my dad, who’s following behind with his cane.

“Hey, son.”

“Hey, Dad.” I give him a hug. It’s been so nice having them here. Between the hockey season and the time I’m spending with Hayes, we don’t get to see each other as much as I’d like, but I’m glad they’re close. They come over to see me often, or we’ll meet for lunch, and it feels nice to be around family.

“So when do we get to meet this friend of yours?” Mom asks as we automatically make our way toward the deck.

That will likely never happen. Hayes always makes sure to leave before they arrive. I’ve told him more than once that as my friend, there’s no reason he can’t meet my parents—Mads is a friend and knows them—but Hayes worries they’ll take one look at us and know we spend a lot of time naked together. I figurethat’s because he’s never had a friends-with-benefits situation before. So much of what we’re doing is new for Hayes.

“I’m not sure. He’s pretty busy.” I pull out one of the chairs at the outside table to make it easier for Dad to sit down.

“You ready for the game against Columbus tomorrow?” Dad asks.

“You know it. Your tickets will be there waiting for you.” My parents try to go to as many of my home games as they can when they’re in LA. I still haven’t been able to get Hayes to come to one yet, but I do know he’s been watching every one of my games. In the beginning he tried to hide it, but things have shifted some since that first night he slept over. He’d make random comments about a goal I scored, about me stealing the puck or a hit I took. Now when I tease him about being my biggest fan and watching my games, he just blushes and tells me to shut up. It’s cute as fuck.

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