Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rylan

I ’m the worst hockey player who ever lived.

At least, that’s how I’ve been playing the last week. I don’t understand how I went from our Seattle game to team embarrassment so quickly.

I blame Harry. There’s no other option. Hooking up with him is the only thing I did differently before playing so well in Seattle, compared to the shitshow of the last couple games. It’s like meeting him clicked some hidden button inside me. I played a spectacular game after draining a load out of his balls, and then all the hockey skill was sucked out of me when I didn’t.

“Good practice,” Mads tells me as we’re getting dressed after the shower.

“Yeah, well, that doesn’t seem to be my problem lately,” I grumble. I’m being a dick, but I can’t help it. I’m one of the best defensemen in the league. I’m better than this, and I don’t fucking like it.

“It’s only been a week. Plus, we won the last two games.”

“With no help from me. That’s a flex on your abilities, not mine.”

He laughs, but I don’t see anything fun in this. I want the old me back, the one I was before Harry.

I don’t even need post-sex-game me. Just the normal one.

I flop down on the bench in a pair of jeans. Mads’s stall is opposite mine, so he does the same. “What did you do differently? Seattle was…well, Seattle was incredible, and since then…not so much.”

I flip him off, but he’s speaking the truth, and if it was anyone other than Mads, they would have said it in a much rougher way.

I haven’t told him about Harry, and I’m not sure why. I guess because I was nervous that if I’d had a shitty game the day after, we would have blamed it on my lack of sleep because I went out to blow some random guy. Then I’d played so well, I didn’t want it in my head that Harry could be the reason why. But now I don’t have much choice in sharing. Whatever this curse is he put on me hasn’t lifted, and I need my buddy’s help.

“The night before our game in Seattle, I couldn’t sleep. I met some dude in the hotel bar, hit it off with him, had maybe the best mutual blowjobs of my life, and then…well, you know what happened.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Exactly. The guy with magic cum lives in Seattle.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe you’ll get your mojo back on your own. If you found him and did it again, you might end up in the situation where you had to blow him before every game to play well.”

I toss around that possibility for a moment. “Yeah, well. It would be worth it.” No. What am I thinking? That shouldn’t be the first thing to pop into my head.

“It’s not practical. Maybe you should blow someone else to, like, wipe off the residual…whatever the fuck. Because it’s like he gave you one good game and then ruined you for all the others.”

“Gee, thanks.” But his words feel true. A week is an eternity to me.

Mads gives me a bashful grin. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Anyway. I tried that. I blew someone before the game in Tampa Bay, remember?” It hadn’t been nearly as good as with Harry, but I’d made up some excuse about needing an orgasm to blow some steam off and, well, I’m still sucking ass and not in a fun way.

“I don’t know what to tell you, buddy. I’m all out of ideas. All I know is you gotta get your shit together. We need you out there. I need you out there.”

He does. They do. Fuuuck. Stupid, amazing blowjob ruining my life. “Thanks, man. I’ll fix it.”

Mads stands and puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing. “I know you will. Do you want to try and blow me? I’d be willing to take one for the team. I’m pretty sure I have some magic cum.”

Chuckling, I look up at him, and he winks playfully. He’s joking around…I think. Mads and I never hooked up, and while I’ve had plenty of no-strings-attached sex with people I’m friends with, I’m fairly certain having sex with my teammate isn’t a good idea. And while Mads doesn’t hook up often, he does from time to time, and I know he doesn’t really want more from me. “You want the mushy stuff,” I tease.

He blanches. “Not from you.”

I clutch my chest. “Ouch. Kick a guy while he’s down, why don’t you?”

Mads rolls his eyes as if I’m being ridiculous, and really, I know I am. “Don’t take it personally. I would just never date a hockey player.”

“You are a hockey player.”

“Exactly, and I wouldn’t want to date me.”

I can see where he’s coming from. “Yeah, I’m not sure I’d want to date me either.”

We chat while we finish getting dressed, then head our separate ways. We have a home game tomorrow night, which means I’ll probably spend as much time as I can resting up before that, so I go from the practice facility straight home.

Puck looks at me from his perch on the back of the couch. I’m pretty sure he’s wondering why I dare enter his domain. I like animals, but with my schedule I needed something that’s independent. Puck is that to a fault, but then when he’s in the mood for attention, I better rub exactly how he wants, or he’ll scratch up my couch or vomit on my lap. It’s happened. More than once.

“Hey, Pucky.” I pet his head, and if cats could roll their eyes, I’m fairly certain that’s what he just did. “I love you too.”

I take my shit to the laundry room, immediately tossing my gear into the wash. I close the lid just before my doorbell rings.

I frown, not sure who would be coming over, and hoping it’s not an overeager fan. It’s only happened twice, and luckily, both times they were harmless. Some of the other guys live in gated communities, but I love my house and don’t want to move. Plus, while I can’t pretend I don’t like being famous, I also want to live as normal a life as possible.

I make my way back through the house, getting side-eyed by Pucky. I look through the peephole and… What the fuck? My heart races while confusion twists up my gut. I tug the door open. “Harry?” What is he doing in LA? More importantly, how in the fuck does he know where I live?

“That’s enough of that Mister Innocent act. You know my name isn’t Harry.” He pushes around me and comes into my house like he owns the place. Maybe I should be annoyed, but for a reason I can’t understand, I find his outburst cute.

I close the door behind him. “Well, yeah. I knew, but—”

“Aha! So you admit it? At least you’re not gonna try and lie your way out of it.” He keeps moving into my living room, and I have no real choice except to follow him like he’s calling the shots here. I might be slightly—or a lot—confused on how the fuck he found me, but part of me is glad he did. If he’s here, then maybe I can test out his cock again to see if it gives me back my hockey superpowers.

“You’ll have to backtrack like five or maybe even a hundred steps here, Harry . I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But then it hits me that he must have known who I am the whole time. How else would he be here?

“You tricked me!” we both say at the same time, then blanch. “I didn’t trick you,” I tell him. “You tricked me.”

“Why would I trick you?” He crosses his arms.

I do the same. “Because I’m kind of a big deal.”

He rolls his eyes so hard, I’m surprised they don’t fall out of his head. “Ugh. You’re so cocky.”

“You’ve seen what I’m packing.” I grin because well, we both know it’s true.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh my God. What did I see in you?”

“My hard pecs? You seemed especially fixated on those.”

I’m fairly certain I notice a flash of heat in his gaze before he covers it. “We’re getting off-track here. Did you get off on it?”

I feel like I’ve missed a step. He knows I got off because he swallowed my load. It’s clear in the way he crosses and uncrosses his arms, how he wrings his hands, and how he can’t stay still that he’s upset, and that’s the last thing I want. Does he regret what we did? It would kill me if that’s the case. I don’t ever want anyone to regret being with me. “Listen, I’m totally lost here. You’re going to have to help me catch up. It’s obvious your name isn’t Harry, but that’s all I got. Did I…hurt you?” I don’t see how that’s possible, but it’s important to me to be sure.

He cocks his head, his gaze on me. He’s studying me, searching for something, but it’s just one more item on the list of things I don’t know in this conversation.

“Oh God. You really don’t know, do you?”

Pucky jumps off the couch and walks away, clearly over us. “No clue.”

“Okay, well, this was fun. I should go.”

Wait. What? Harry tries to walk away, but I step in front of him, arms up so he knows I’m not trying to force him to do anything, but I really am curious what’s going on. “What are you doing here?”

“I live in LA.”

“I mean my house, smart-ass.”

“Hey, I’m not the smart-ass between us, Mister You’ve-Seen-What-I’m-Packing. Ugh.”

He’s got me there. I chuckle. “I was only speaking the truth, but I’m not worried about that. Who are you?” Because it’s clear that’s an issue for him. He thinks I tricked him in some way because of who he is. “Before that night in Seattle, I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

Harry—I’m really getting sick of calling him that—runs a hand through his hair and paces my living room. “How did this happen?”

“If I knew what this is, I might be able to help.”

He ignores me, talking to himself. “Because of course, the one time I decide to hook up with a hot guy, he has to have been there for the worst night of my life.”

I force myself not to focus on the hot-guy part while I try putting together the pieces of what he’s saying. I was there for the worst night of his life? None of this is making any sense.

“I can’t even have no-strings-attached sex right. I can’t breathe. Holy shit. Can you breathe? Why can’t I breathe?”

“I can breathe,” I reply, which might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever said.

Harry plops down on my couch and bends forward, clearly trying to catch his breath. I have no idea what I’m doing here, but I hurry over, sit beside him and rub circles on his back the way my mom used to do when I was upset. “Are you kidding? You’re great at no-strings-attached sex. Believe me. I should know. You made me come my brains out.” When he doesn’t reply, just keeps rocking back and forth, I continue. “Seriously. I played the best game of my career after I blew you. I jacked off thinking about it…more than once. I’ve been a little pissed at you since then because I’ve sucked balls in every game after that first night, but the sex was fan-fucking-tastic.”

He freezes, then looks at me. “How is it my fault you’ve sucked balls since then?”

“Hockey rules. I don’t make them.”

“We’re getting off-track again.”

“What track are we on?” I ask because I still have no idea what the fuck is happening here.

“The one where the only member of the Jilted Exes’ Club dumb enough to propose to his cheating boyfriend—at a professional hockey game, no less—is then dumb enough to blow one of said hockey players. The internet will have a field day with this if they find out!”

My heart drops. Harry is the guy who proposed to that asshole at our game? The guy who’s been tortured online ever since the incident? “How…?”

“Hayes Rockwell.”

As soon as he says his name, the picture begins to form. Hayes Rockwell. Everyone knows the hotel heir is the man from our game, the one the media has called the most jilted ex of them all. That would also explain what he was doing at the Rockwell in Seattle. “Fuck. I took advantage of a Jilted Ex?”

He sits up quickly, anger shooting fire from his eyes. “Wait. How did you take advantage of me? I’m a consenting adult who, if I remember correctly, told you that I want to start slutting it up. I’m an adult who can make my own decisions, damn it!”

“That’s not what you said five minutes ago!” I argue.

“That’s when I thought you knew and were trying to play a joke on me!” He shoves to his feet. “Do you know how many creepy-ass guys I had try to get with me after everything went down? How many people told me they’d treat me better than Malcolm ever did, and I know it was just because they wanted their piece of fame. I thought…”

He thought I’d been just like them. Jesus, this must have been hard on Hayes. On all the guys. I figured that, but I didn’t have a clue how bad it must have been. Not really. “I didn’t know.”

“I can see that now. You’re annoyingly genuine, and I…well, I might be a little high-maintenance, for lack of a better term.”

I look up at Harry—Hayes—standing over me. He proposed at a Rebels game to a douchebag who ended up having however the fuck many partners all over the country. He’s been mocked and teased online. Probably hounded. Embarrassed.

“Stop that!” he shouts.

“Huh? What did I do?”

“Now you’re feeling sorry for me. I can’t handle that. Don’t do it.”

“Okay,” I say, though I’m not sure I can follow through. How can I not feel sorry for him? Not in the way he seems to take it, but what happened to him was incredibly shitty.

“I’m serious, Rylan. I can’t handle pity. I’m taking my life back. That’s what our…” He shakes his hand back and forth between the two of us.

“Hookup?”

“Yes. That. It’s what that was about.”

“Did it help?”

He frowns. “I’m not going to sit here and build up your ego.”

“Technically, you’re standing.”

“Are you always like this?”

I grin proudly. “Yes, I am.”

Hayes rolls his eyes.

“That’s not why I’m asking, though. I seriously want to know. Not because I feel sorry for you, but because it’s important to me to leave partners satisfied.”

“You swallowed my satisfaction. You know I felt it.”

I snort-laugh. I can’t help but notice again how fun Hayes is, how fucking cute. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, in other ways.”

He huffs, as if unhappy about what his response will be. He walks over to the armchair and plops down on it, clearly not wanting to be close to me. “Yes. Annoyingly so…until I realized you’re a hockey player.”