Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys #2)(62)

“Tripp, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

He gives his bashful grin. “I’m sure you’ve seen we’ve been under a bit of pressure lately.”

“I have.” He nods to me. “Nice to finally meet you, Dexter Mitchale.”

“Just Dex, please.” I shake his hand, and he introduces himself as William, but my attention strays back to Tripp. “You come here a lot?”

“Not as much as I did when I first moved here, but it’s a good place to escape sometimes.”

“You never told me.”

“It’s personal.” He shrugs.

“Is that the Mitchell brothers?”

I look up to see a kid, maybe mid-teens, skating our way. I plaster the friendliest smile I can manage onto my face.

“In the flesh.”

“No way. Guys, look!”

He gets the team’s attention, and from there, Tripp and I don’t get a chance to talk. We’re surrounded by overenthusiastic kids, and for a couple of minutes, I’m in my element. We sign skates, and the entire time the nonstop noise comes at me from all directions. I love it.

“Thank you,” someone says.

I look up into the pimply face of a kid so lanky he’s almost my height. “What for?”

“You, umm … I always thought my best friend was straight, even when he’d be touchy and stuff like you two, and then after you guys got married, I got my shit together and asked him if he’d ever considered it.”

My smile takes over my face. “Yeah? What did he say?”

The kid shakes his head. “Nah, it’s not for him. But nothing changed. Just … I had an answer. You know?”

Well, thank fuck for that. The last thing I need is to be responsible for wrecking some kid’s life. “I’m happy for you. Best friends are important.”

His face reddens. “Yeah. Can you sign my skate?”

I take it that’s it for the emotional stuff, then. Fair enough. I sign his skate, then a few others, and the whole time I can feel the sheer levels of enthusiasm.

When William finally gets everyone to calm down, Tripp and I help out with drills, and then we put on some pads and break into two teams for a practice game. I’m not sure if it’s the absence of pressure or being in a supportive environment, but when we start to play, it’s like I’m my old self.

We go easy on the kids. I let some strip the puck from me, and Tripp lets two easy goals past. But when I get close enough to take a shot, I have this brief flashback to how I used to feel playing him before he was traded. The nerves, the respect and admiration, the knowledge that if I get one past him, it’s less about skill and more about luck.

Tripp’s hands are ready, eyes sharp, and I don’t hold back. I fire a bullet into the right corner, and for one wild second, I think Tripp’s got it …

Then it finds the net.

Satisfaction floods through me. The high I get from scoring never seems to go away, even in a game that means nothing, but also, somehow, everything.

Once we’re finished, we follow the team back to the weights room, where we sit in a circle and the ones who are comfortable share their stories.

We’re there for a few hours all up, and when it’s time to leave, we pose for about a million selfies.

I feel lighter than I have in weeks.

It’s not until I’m back out in the Vegas sun that I can breathe around the emotion again.

Before Tripp can take a step, I grab him and yank him into a hug.

I have no doubt this hasn’t fixed my issues, but it’s a start.

I belong.

My feelings for Tripp are bigger than nasty comments and Fensby’s attitude. If something happens and it gets out that we made a dumb choice, it’s not like that will change anything. Fake-real married or not, we’re together now.

I can love Tripp the way my body always has because my brain has finally caught up.

The threat of a trade is still terrifying, but I have to believe we’re stronger than that. We’ve had this connection from the start, and not even distance can get in the way of us.

I don’t let him go for a really long time.

“You okay?” he asks.

I kiss the side of his head. “I really think I will be.”





Twenty-Six





TRIPP





The whole way home, Dex doesn’t stop touching me. He leans over and kisses my neck, runs his hand up my thigh until he’s cupping me over my pants, and it takes all my strength to keep focus on the road.

We stop at a red light, and I relax into it. “Being a good role model really turns you on, huh?”

“Nope. But you showing me something that’s important to you does. Taking me there just so I will feel better does. Everything you do turns me on.”

“Fuck.” I throw my head back.

Then a horn blasts behind us, and my eyes fly open to see the light is green.

“You’re going to make me crash,” I say.

“I can’t help it.”

“Pretty sure you can. You just need to remember kindergarten rules. We don’t touch other people’s private parts. In this case, at least until we get home. Then we can have grown-up rules again.”