Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Yes. We worship dicks, and on Wednesdays, we wear pink. But for real, the other guys in the league who are queer catch up every now and then so we don’t feel so alone with all the heteros floating around in hockey.”
Lane smiles, but it quickly drops. “It’s an orgy with other hockey players, isn’t it? Who’s involved? I need to get their PR guys onto it too.”
“You know, considering you’re so adamant we won’t have sex, you’re certainly picturing me in a lot of different sexual situations.”
“You had a threesome on camera, and you have made it my job to make sure that doesn’t happen again. I need all the details.”
I fold my arms. “Oh. Well, settle in because it’s story time. It all started when this guy approached me at the bar and said he wanted me to fuck him and his boyfriend in that little private room out the back. You know how some places have those? Anyway, wasn’t public enough for me, so I suggested—”
“I need to know the details of any of your more permanent arrangements. Like with this sex collective you’ve got going on.”
Sex collective. I’m so telling Ezra we need to change the name to that. But then when Lane eyes me expectantly, I realize …
“I don’t have any permanent arrangements.”
Permanent means serious, and no way in hell am I letting anyone get that close to me.
The guys in the Collective are as close as I’m comfortable with, and even they aren’t that close. I’m used to being alone. It’s how I survived childhood. It’s how I live my life.
The only person who’ll ever truly have my back is me.
I accepted that a long time ago.
THREE
LANE
I’m ready to take everything Oskar has to throw at me … I just didn’t realize that would include listening to him every night, giving his hand a pep talk as he rubs one out. If I have to hear, “Oh, yeah, baby, harder. Just like that. Bit more …” one more time, there’s no telling what I might do.
My only comfort is that a jury would undoubtedly be on my side.
“So sorry I couldn’t spring for your ticket,” Oskar says from his seat across the airport table. “But at least you can enjoy the first-class lounge before you’re relegated back to coach. San Jose are cheap bastards, aren’t they? Just because this isn’t a team-sanctioned trip, that doesn’t mean you should have to deal with being squished into the back of a plane like sardines in a can.”
We’re on our way to visit this orgy collective in Boston for All-Stars week, and as much as Oskar’s been insisting he can go alone, I’m not dumb enough to fall for it. My other PR members might have been trusting, but I am not.
It’s been a peaceful ten minutes while Oskar stuffed his face with all the food he could find and I got to enjoy my coffee in peace. Now, it seems he’s back, and I get to deal with … him.
It’s no puzzle to me why all my guys have failed when it comes to Oskar—he’s annoying as fuck—but for some reason, I find his wild personality entertaining. I’ve known a few fuckboys like Oskar in my time, and while those men are people I try not to think about often, they taught me how to deal with entitled hockey players. It probably helps that he hasn’t tried to sneak out or throw some wild house party, even though I’ve been ready for both of those things to happen.
He’ll try it at some point—it’s only a matter of time.
And I’ll be ready for him when he does.
Our flight is called, and Oskar jumps up to board with a smug look thrown my way. I let him go ahead and give him all of five minutes to disappear and enjoy his superiority before I pick up my carry-on and follow.
If I thought he could be trusted around anyone on board this flight, I would have been happy in coach and enjoyed the next five hours of peace. But if the past PR reps have taught me anything, it’s that you can’t leave Oskar’s side. Not even when you’re thirty thousand feet in the air. And the look on Oskar’s face as I arrive at his row and come to a stop might be worth the next few hours of pain.
I keep eye contact as I shove my bag in the overhead compartment with one hand and wave my company credit card at him with the other. “Like I said, San Jose is prepared to do anything.”
And maybe I should be concerned by the calculating look that crosses his face, but he wouldn’t be Oskar if he didn’t rise to the challenge. I have to make sure I’m a match for him.