Page 43 of Puck Me Back to Life

“Bro, you're not very inconspicuous when you have your twink moaning your name all night.”

I close my eyes immediately. “Dante, it's eight in the morning.”

“And it was fucking one am last night when I was hearing ‘Oh, Ash! Fuck!’ Come on, man.” A devilish smile curls on my best friend's mouth.

I glare at him. “You are an awful person.”

“I am a curious person.”

“You're a menace.”

“That too.” He leans back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself. “So who was he?”

I decide very quickly that the truth is a terrible idea. It is one thing for Dante to know I had someone in my room. It is another thing entirely for him to know that someone was Kai Hayes, who is currently fragile in ways the team still doesn't fully understand and pretty in ways I am trying very hard not to think about.

“Just some guy.”

“Hot?”

I sigh. “Sure.”

“Needed to blow off some steam?”

“Something like that.”

Dante points at me with his coffee cup. “Be quieter next time.”

I throw a sugar packet at him. Unfortunately, that only encourages him.

By the time the bus pulls up outside, I'm ready to leave him at the hotel. The team slowly filters into the lobby in uneven waves, players emerging from elevators with equipment bags, coffees, and the hollow-eyed exhaustion that comes from road trips, late games, and hotel mattresses that never feel as comfortable as they should. A few guys look hungover. A few look half-dead. Dante somehow looks energized, which feels like a personal insult.

Then Hayes appears. And suddenly, I forget whatever Dante is saying.

He's wearing a cream-colored fuzzy jacket that looks absurdly soft and completely impractical for a professional athlete. The thing is ridiculous. I love it immediately, which is a deeply concerning development and one I refuse to examine in public.

Hayes is checking something on his phone as he crosses the lobby. His hair is still slightly messy from sleep, and for one brief moment, I have the unreasonable urge to drag him back upstairs, put him in bed, and tell the rest of the team to go without us.

Instead, I remind myself that I'm annoyed with him. At least I try.

The second I reach him, most of that irritation dissolves. “Hayes.”

He looks up, panic showing up in his eyes as he spots me. “Morning.”

The smile he gives me is small, awkward, and completely unaware of the effect it's having on me.

I should probably get a grip.

Instead, I sling an arm around his shoulders. The gesture is casual enough to avoid attention from anyone not looking too closely, but the meaning behind it isn't casual at all.

“We're sitting together.”

His eyes widen slightly. “Ash⁠—”

“No.”

“I was actually⁠—”

My arm tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to make my point. “Do not argue with me.”