Irresponsible Puckboy (Puckboys, #2)

by Eden Finley

“What’s with the outfit?” “What? You said to dress in theme.” I gesture to my suit. “Yeah, wedding theme.” He doesn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. “Exactly. Weddings are stupid, so I dressed the part.” I take in his “I’m with stupid” T-shirt, the water wings, and his kilt. “In that case, you nailed the brief.” “Don’t you wanna know what it all means?” he asks innocently. “I think you’re going to tell me anyway.” “The kilt was as close to a dress as I’ll go, even for you, and it’s my family kilt. Only worn on special occasions. The T-shirt, because, duh. I think this whole wedding idea is stupid.” “And the water wings?” “I thought you’d never ask.” He looks proud of himself. “They’re to stop me from drowning in all this commitment.”

“Are you … crying?” Dex asks. Well, fuck. I wipe at my face. “I always cry at weddings.” “Because they’re so beautiful?” “No, because every time a couple gets married, a manwhore fairy dies. We just killed someone, and you don’t even care.” I finally risk looking at his face, because I know he’ll be smiling and not so concerned that my eyes are involuntarily leaking. “A … manwhore fairy.” His brow furrows. “Umm, what exactly is a manwhore fairy?” “Whenever you have a random hookup, a gay manwhore fairy gets its wings. It’s legend, passed on to all of the baby gays.” The officiant clears his throat. “Congratulations. Uh, I don’t mean to rush you out, but we do have a 4:30 ceremony, and you still need to sign the certificate.”

“Great. I forget how much I love the downtime in off-season.” Mira hums. “So that’s why you married my son? Boredom.”

“I can’t give you the answers, but from what you’re saying … maybe you can look up pansexuality.” I side-eye him. “Did you just make that up?” He shoves me playfully. “Of course not. Seriously, look it up. And before you ask me, no, it has nothing to do with pots and pans.” That’s exactly what I was going to ask.

“Okay, I’m getting the impression you’d rather die than let me top you. Is that what’s happening here?” Dex smirks. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask to top me forever.” Dex frowns. “Wait, why do I have to be the one to ask?” “Because I don’t know if you know this …” I lean in and whisper conspiratorially, “I’ve had sex with men before. You haven’t.” “What’s that got to do with anything?” “I wanted to take this at your pace. Do what you’re comfortable with. And you always seem to want me inside you, and I will never, ever say no to that.” Dex throws up his hands. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask because, I dunno … isn’t it … gay etiquette?” “For the last time, there is no gay etiquette. Do you think we go to a finishing school for gay sex—whoa. There’s a sentence that changes the whole meaning of finishing school.” I shudder.

“But …” Tripp shakes his head like he’s confused. “You were hooking up with me because we weren’t allowed to hook up with anyone else. It wasn’t real.” I yank my shirt from his grip. “It was real to me.”

“I’m dumb a lot of the time, but the best dumb decision I ever made was marrying you. Because now I know why I could spend forever with you, and only you. I know we’re supposed to stand up here and announce some bogus divorce, but I don’t want that. I want us.” My voice breaks. “Always. Forever. Because I am so fucking in love with you, I don’t know myself without you.” “Swearing, Dex,” Coach mutters.

And coach has his priorities all straight 🤣🤣

Tripp laughs as he pulls me down the chute. “You’re such an attention whore.” “It’s not my fault you’re irresistible. In fact, it’s your fault I can never stop touching you, and you should take pity on me.” “Why? I’m the one being smothered with attention.” “Oh, no,” I mock. “My husband loves me.” “I swear, any excuse for you to use the H word.” “I know how much you like hearing it.” “I prefer the L word myself.” “Loser?” “Fuck you.” “Naw.” I ruffle his sweaty red hair. “Look at you being all affectionate.” Tripp bats my hand away. “You’re bad for my image.” “Sure, because it’s my fault you’re known as the sweetheart of the league.” “I don’t even know where that reputation came from.” “It’s your big, pretty eyes.” Tripp scowls. “My eyes aren’t pretty.” “They’re very pretty. The rest of you …”

When Anton’s introduced, Ezra yells at the TV, “Kick ass, baby!” “Why didn’t you go with him for support and cheer him on from the stands?” I ask. “I love him, but I love having All-Stars week off more.” “Ooh,” Soren says from across the room where he’s sitting with Ollie. “It’s all downhill from here. When you’d rather rest instead of being invited to All-Stars, there’s only a few years left before the dreaded retirement word starts floating around.” Ezra’s face falls. “Why would you say such a mean thing?”