Egotistical Puckboy (PUCKBOYS #1) by Eden Finley EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Eden Finley
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
EZRA
YOUR LIFELONG DREAM disappearing in front of your eyes
isn’t supposed to happen so quickly. Three twenty-minute
periods have never felt so short.
It’s game seven of what has been the longest series in
history, because we’ve gone into overtime in every single
game. Except this one. Because in the last few minutes of the
third, there is absolutely no coming back from this disaster.
Philly might have the home advantage, but there’s no
excuse for this shitshow. 6-1. Six to one. This is what it looks
like when a team crumbles under pressure and loses their
chance at even trying for the Cup.
Literal blood and sweat have been put into this season,
and I’m about to add tears as well. Because as I watch Anton
Hayes power toward me with a knowing I win smirk on his
lips, it takes all my strength to only check him instead of
doing what I really want to do, which is body slam him into
the ice. What’s a five-minute major penalty and a twentythousand-dollar fine in the big scheme of things?
But I don’t. Because I’m professional and not a sore loser,
and this game is already over.
Which is how we let another goal in before the final
buzzer.
Fuckdamnit.
Okay, maybe I’m a bit of a sore loser.
Anton Hayes. What a walking douchecanoe.
I have no problem with ego. Hell, I probably rival every
single guy for the crown of biggest ego in the NHL. But
Hayes adds a whole new level of meaning to the word.
And coming from me, Mr. Egotistical Fuckboy, that says a
lot.
Yet, people don’t see him for the asshole he really is.
Like right now, while we do the ceremonial shaking of
hands after the game and he gets to me, there’s something
condescending in the way he says “Good game.” It’s in his
cocky smile, the one that calls me a “Loser” without him
actually saying the word out loud.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He’s
probably getting enough happiness from the smell of defeat
that’s hanging around our team. It smells a lot like old gym
socks and jockstraps.
Also, there’s no doubt in my mind that the cameras are on
the two of us. Hayes and I have come head-to-head so many
times on the ice I’ve lost count. Therefore, according to the
media, we hate each other. People are told not to believe
everything they read, but in this case, they should. Because
it’s absolutely true.
In the locker room, our coaches don’t even bother with
the “We’ll get ’em next season” speech. It’s the end of our
year, and we’re in mourning.
“You gonna shave that mess off your face now?” Diedrich
nods toward my playoff beard, which is nowhere near as bad
as some of the other players’.
“Dunno. Guys love it.” I run my hand over the coarse hair
on my chin, and it’s all wet from perspiration. Yeah, I’m
going to have to at least trim it. “They like it when it scrapes
along their—”
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