Puck Drills & Quick Thrills (CU Hockey Book 5) Read online

  West’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he stares, and the small movement sends a spike of lust through me that I quickly stamp out.

  “Okay, fine.” West nods. “I saw you and thought, mm, that sexy tweed, and then …”

  “What’s wrong with tweed?”

  “You look like a stereotype.”

  “I’m in a classroom all day, and it’s cold.”

  “I skate on ice. Being cold is not a good enough reason.”

  “We’re getting way off track.”

  “I dunno. If someone asks me for my boyfriend’s clothing item of choice, I’ll be sure to let them know he dresses like a geriatric Sunday school teacher.”

  I look down at my jeans. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?”

  “You’re always so … put together.”

  “Coming from someone wearing running shorts and a hoodie.” I hold up my hand before he can continue. “You know what, let’s move on.”

  “Fine. Sexy tweed. What’s next?”

  “Well, what would you normally do when you see someone you’re attracted to?”

  “Normally? Wait until we’re both drunk off our tits, then drag them to the closest location we can get hot and sweaty in.”

  Well, damn. Picturing West, sweaty, panting … the image is criminal. He taps his phone again, lighting it up, before turning his attention to the kitchen.

  I clear my throat. “You’re not suggesting we tell them that you saw me, invited me for drinks, then we fucked in the closest bathroom stall?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Thank God.”

  “The back alley is more my style.” He pauses. “Was … was my style.”

  “What changed?”

  “My whole damn life,” he murmurs.

  I sigh. “This isn’t going well, is it?”

  “Maybe we should get a drink and loosen up.”

  “Now I know that’s your signature move, there’s no chance.”

  “Jasper!” he mock gasps, resting a hand over his heart. “Are you suggesting I want to sleep with you?”

  “No, that’s … it’s not—”

  “Don’t worry. I’m a reformed man slut with no standards. Even before I moved home, the hookup scene was getting old. But … it was what I knew, so I kept doing it.”

  I blink at him. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with that information.”

  When he glances at his phone again, a sliver of annoyance passes through me.

  “Okay, what’s going on? Do you have somewhere else you need to be?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve barely been here ten minutes and you can’t stop checking your phone.”

  “Oh.” He hurries to flip it facedown. “No, it’s nothing.”

  “West …”

  He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I struggle to leave my siblings, that’s all. Whenever I’m not there, I’m convinced something terrible is going to happen and they won’t be able to get hold of me. The funny thing is, bad shit happens when I am there, and I don’t know how to fix it, so I’m practically useless anyway.” His laugh doesn’t sound genuine.

  I’m hit with the urge to reassure him, but he’s still almost a stranger. For all I know, he is useless, though I have a sneaking suspicion that’s not the case. “How are you going to go away next weekend, then?”

  “They’ll be with the sitter. It’s kind of bullshit that I’m less on edge when she’s with them than Asher, because he’s actually really good with them, probably better than I am. But I still have that unease in my gut when he’s with them.”

  “He’s with them now?”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s not my business, but last I checked, he’s an adult. And he’s their brother. I’m sure he cares as much as you do.”

  “I just can’t stop reliving that phone call … the one telling me about the accident saying my dad and stepmom were gone. Every time my phone rings, fear slices through me, like it’s going to happen again but with my siblings this time.”

  “That sounds like an issue for a therapist.”

  “You’re terrible with this reassuring business.”

  “Add it to the list of what you know about me.”

  Despite his words, I must be doing something right because he slides the phone back into the pocket of his hoodie. “Okay, so we met and didn’t fuck, apparently.” He playfully narrows his eyes. “And I flirted with you for a bit, then asked you on a date?”

  “That works.”

  “I mean, bit cliché.”

  “Well, you already think I’m a stereotype for wearing tweed. Might as well add cliché to the list.”

  “Damn, my boyfriend is a catch.”

  I lift an eyebrow at him, and he clearly gets the message I’m not playing. But also … I like this. In between moments where his baggage is showing, I’m getting glimpses of the real him. I get the impression that he’s cheeky and a bit snarky, but not in a malicious way.

  He’s not how I pictured an NHL hockey player to be.

  “Now that we’ve established my shortcomings …” I say dryly.

  “How do you know those things don’t turn me on?” he asks.

  “Even if they did, you’ve already told me you don’t have standards, so that’s not exactly reassuring.”

  West lets his eyes trail down my body, and it takes me way too long to realize he’s shamelessly checking me out. It’s … different. Even when I’ve dated, most of my boyfriends have been almost as high-strung as I am—when we check people out, we’re subtle about it, damn it.

  “Okay,” he says. “Flirting. Date. And we’ve been together for …”

  “A year?”

  “Ah, so you locked me down almost immediately after I came home? You move quickly.”

  “You’re the one who pointed out how irresistible you are. Getting to you first was just smart of me.”

  He smiles again, and it covers all the hurt he’s trying to hide.

  Then his phone beeps from inside his pocket.

  He immediately pulls it out and lets out a curse. “Shit. I have to go. They’re asking where I am. I don’t feel like we got many of the details we’ll need to pull this off yet.”

  “Maybe we adjust the time frame and say it’s new but we’re totally smitten.”

  “That works. It will cover our asses if we say the wrong thing.”

  I follow him through the living area and let my gaze roam down his back to the firm, round globes of his ass, making sure to look away before we reach the hall. See? Subtle.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say, reaching around him to open the door.

  A burst of cool air pushes inside, and West tucks his hands into his hoodie pockets as his shoulders pull in tight. “No problem. It’s only one night. We can totally convince them.”

  “I’m skeptical that it’s possible when I can barely convince myself of why I’m doing this, but sure.”

  He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “You know I’m not like them, right? You can be yourself around me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not like the assholes who bullied you.” He sets his jaw. “When I was younger, I was a loudmouth and a bit of a dick sometimes, but I’ve never bullied anyone because I know what it’s like to live in the closet.”

  I didn’t even know I needed to hear that until he said it. “Okay.”

  West lets his eyes roam again. “For what it’s worth, if I was still doing the cheap hookup thing, I totally would have fucked you.”

  “Did you just call me cheap?”

  He smirks, and I get that glimpse again of this flirty, charismatic guy behind the pain. And even though the thought makes me feel hot under the collar, I step closer.

  It’s not until I’m leaning in that I realize he’s not that much taller than me. “And who says it wouldn’t be the other way around?”

  West catches his bottom lip with his teeth, and I track the mov
ement before tearing my gaze back to meet his.

  “We’re sharing the one hotel room while we’re away, aren’t we? We could always test it and find out.” His voice is laced with innuendo.

  “You’re pushing your luck, jock.”

  West’s easy smile lights up again as he backs across my front porch. “Am I not allowed to flirt with my boyfriend?”

  “Save it for an audience.”

  “Ooh, kinky.”

  I glare at him, and he laughs.

  “Sorry, sir. I’ll behave.”

  And damn if those words don’t shoot straight to my dick.

  9

  Westly

  It’s like I’m a damn teenager again, lying to my parents. Only, this time, I’m the parent, and I’m lying to the kids. And to their sitter. And to Asher.

  Mrs. Peterson thinks I’m needed at this away game, Asher thinks I’m going to be at home with the kids, and the kids think I’m going to visit Ezra in Boston.

  Because this isn’t going to blow up in my face or anything.

  Even though the usual guilt over leaving the kids is eating at me, I have to admit I’m excited to get away from everything.

  I’m not a pseudo father to five kids tonight. I’m not a struggling single parent.

  I get to be the Westly Dalton, NHL fuckboy, my true self for the first time in over a year. I can’t wait.

  I’ll play into the guy everyone expects me to be and make Jasper look good in the process.

  I pull up to Jasper’s charming cottage-style home that he maintains a hell of a lot better than I do with the mess that is our place. I stole quick glances the other day when I was here, and I noticed everything had its own spot, like Jasper had thought through where everything belonged.

  Seven people in one household is messy, and if I find something in the same spot twice, it’s a goddamn miracle.

  I raise my hand to knock, but Jasper opens the door, as if he’s been watching the street for my arrival.

  My breath catches at the sight of him. His light brown hair is styled so it sticks up at the front but is still meticulously neat. He’s in casual clothes but has a clear dry-cleaning bag with a navy blue suit and a plain black tie wrapped around the hanger. It will go well with my royal blue suit. It was my favorite suit to wear after games because I’ve been told it shows off my hockey butt. I fully intend on ditching my jacket tonight at some point to show it off for Jasper … I mean Jasper’s idiot school people.

  “You look amazing,” I say.

  He rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to start with the flattery yet. No one can hear you.” He’s all ready to go, and he steps past me, but I grab his arm.

  “I mean it. I was worried I’d have to wrestle you out of a tweed jacket.” I point to his suit in the bag.

  “Well, that was the plan, but then I told my friend Dave about how much you hate the tweed, and get this … he agrees with you. What kind of friend doesn’t tell their friend that they look like a pretentious twat?”

  I rub my chin. “I think a good one? I mean, if they’re truly your friend, they wouldn’t care how you dressed.”

  “Does that mean we’re not actually friends?” His tone is almost, almost teasing. “Tell me this isn’t charity or that you think you actually owe me for giving Asher extra credit—by the way, does he know about our arrangement? I swear he’s been staring at me weird ever since.”

  “This is not charity, Asher’s probably staring at you weird because you broke your rules for him and he doesn’t know why, and no, I didn’t tell him about this because I figured you wouldn’t want him knowing.”

  “You’d be correct.”

  “As for the tweed, it is pretentious, but if you’re more comfortable in it, I can wait for you to run back inside and get it.”

  He hesitates like he’s contemplating it. “I want to wear whatever will make people wonder who the fuck I am.”

  “That’s definitely the suit. You’re not even wearing it yet, but I know it will look …” I swallow hard. “Uh, yeah. Really good. Jaw-dropping good. Panty-melting good … uh, wait, you’re gay, so … boxer brief–melting?”

  Jasper cocks his head. “Are you sure you’re queer?”

  I smile. “I’m still offended that you haven’t googled me.”

  “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. It’s just—”

  “I’m a bi guy who grew up in a masculinity-driven environment, so I say a lot of dude-bro things because it’s reflex, and I often forget not everyone finds all body shapes attractive like I do.”

  Jasper’s lips flatten into a thin line. “Was it hard?”

  “Oh, it gets hard for anyone.”

  He fights a smile but loses. “I mean being a bisexual NHL player.”

  “Not as much as it once would have been, thanks to a few of us being out. We all made sure to have each other’s backs, and whenever we were in the same city, we’d always check in with anyone from the queer collective.”

  “You named yourself the queer collective? That’s cute, but it also sounds like a secret society.”

  “Except, it’s not so secret?”

  “Oh. That’s no fun.”

  “It was fun for us.”

  He nods. “We should get on the road.”

  We walk to the car, and I take his bag, popping it in my trunk. I’ve left the minivan at home in case the babysitter needs to take the kids somewhere, though she shouldn’t need to. My car, a Range Rover, is the only thing I have left of my old life. It’s kitted out with all the top-of-the-line features, but now Asher mostly drives it while I drive the seven-seater all over Vermont to take the kids to school, hockey practice, and any other extracurricular activities they want to do.

  The drive is quiet.

  “Do you want music?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “Umm, did you want to go over our story again?”

  “One thing I thought I probably should know is your siblings’ names. I know Asher, and that’s all. That’s something I should know, right?”

  “Mm, probably. Though, we could go with the story that you haven’t met them yet.”

  “I thought we agreed to say we’re new but serious? How serious can we be if I haven’t even met your kids?”

  “Okay then, but are you ready for the names? There’s only a gazillion of them.”

  “I’m sure I can manage.”

  “There’s Zoe, Rhys, Hazel, Bennett, and Emmett. Or Ben and Em.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him mutter the names over and over. “Easy.”

  “What were they?”

  “Uh … Ben and Em. That’s easy to remember because it sounds like Eminem.”

  “Please don’t tell anyone that my brother’s name is Eminem.”

  Jasper snorts and relaxes a little.

  “The easy thing to remember if you forget their names is to say that West is extremely protective of his family and would rather keep his younger siblings’ identities from the press.”

  “You’re not that famous.”

  I sigh. “Seriously. Google me. Please.”

  “All right.” He takes out his phone and taps away.

  And now that I’ve made him actually do it, I’m nervous about what he’ll find. I know I’ve popped up a time or two on puck bunny websites with random women I’ve had one-night stands with. I know he’ll see all the speculation about my sexuality which I’ve never really kept secret but never came out and confirmed officially. But most of all, I know he’ll see the countless articles that have framed me as a hero for moving home to look after my orphaned siblings. It’s a praise I don’t feel I’ve earned. Not yet.

  “Wow.” He whistles. “You were a man slut.”

  “Just what in the hell did you google? My stats and hockey career should’ve been top result.”

  “I googled Westly Dalton man slut.”

  “Fucking smartass,” I mumble but can’t help grinning.

  “You’re the one who’s proud of that fact.”

&nbsp
; “Not proud, just making sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  “I’ve managed to hold back from throwing myself at you this far. I think we’ll be okay.”

  It’s hard to switch off and not think about home, but Jasper’s making it that tiny bit easier by openly mocking me.

  “Oh no,” he says. “My boyfriend is one of those famous assholes who posts shirtless selfies all over Instagram.”

  “Huh?”

  He shoves his phone in my face, and I glance at it briefly before focusing back on the road. In the photo, I’m shirtless, my hair is a mess, and I’m squinting at the camera looking hungover because I was.

  I laugh. “Ah, good times.”

  Then Jasper says the one thing that can bring my mood back down. “Do you miss it?”

  Do I miss having a carefree life where I’d do nothing but play hockey all day and party all night?

  “Every fucking day.”

  10

  Jasper

  Something about West makes it easy to relax, and the three-hour drive to New Hampshire goes faster than I anticipated. Asking him if he missed hockey was way out of line and too personal for what this is, and I’m not surprised it made West go silent.

  Thankfully, all it took was us stopping for a burger to turn his mood around.

  I’ve booked us a room at the only hotel my small hometown of Wilson has and thankfully lucked into one with two queen beds. I would have preferred separate rooms, but if anyone else has come in from out of town and notices us parting ways, it’ll make the boyfriend thing hard to believe.

  And after googling him, I’m sure people will notice West. I can only assume I’ve been living under a rock not to have seen half of what there is out there about him. From what I can tell, he and Ezra made the tabloids together a lot.

  I still can’t believe I’m going through with this.

  If I’d known the level of famous West actually was, there’s no way I would have.

  Now, somehow, I need to convince almost a hundred people that I’m on the same level as him. It’s almost laughable. There’s no way this will work.

  It’s awkward enough changing into our suits in the same room. I refuse to look over at him because seeing his muscular body practically naked might be too much to handle on top of everything.