All Chapters of Puck Me Hard: Chapter 1 - Chapter 7

Dorian’s P.O.V“Stay the fuck out of my way, Golden Boy,” I yanked my arm free of Noah’s grip, storming off into the freezing night. Fuck Noah Carter and that goddamn punch he threw, trying to play savior when no one asked him to. My boots loudly hit the pavement, like I was stomping out a goddamn wildfire. But the flames raged on in my chest. Hypocritical little prick. My jaw clenched, dragging my mind back to when I’d first seen him in the locker room and he introduced himself as captain. Blonde hair, light blue eyes, and his body all defined lines and sculpted muscles. All-American-Pretty boy. He probably had fucking skincare products to keep his skin that dewy…and his lips as red as they looked.I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets, clenching my fists into balls. My jaw ached from grinding my teeth, but it was nothing compared to the fury coursing through me. Just a few years had passed and yet, the bastard didn’t even remember me. Not a flicker of recognition in those stupid

Dorian’s P.O.V The locker room reeked of sweat and ballsack. I stepped out from the hot spray of water, turning it off. Grabbing my towel off the bench, I roughly ran it through my damp hair, water dripping down my shoulders and chest as I walked towards the locker room naked. It wasn’t like I cared who saw. Besides, most of the team had cleared out and it was just the sound of my breathing and shuffling feet breaking the silence. I was halfway to my locker, still drying my hair, when I noticed him. Carter. The Golden Boy himself, standing frozen like a fucking deer in headlights, eyes wide and glued to me. My brows furrowed and before I could ask him what the hell he was looking at, all red-faced and barely breathing, he left. But the funny thing was that he didn’t just walk away. If the expression, ‘running with tails between your legs’ needed an image, Noah in that moment was it. Bag in hand, practically tripping over himself as he disappeared through the door. For

Noah’s P.O.VI tugged my jersey over my head, the sweat already drying on my skin after practice. The room buzzed with post-practice chatter–dull aches, bruises, and the usual locker room banter filling the space. However, Matt was unusually quiet today, fingers moving furiously over his phone. For once, I didn’t feel like I had to be walking on tiptoes, so I sank onto the bench in front of my lockers, pulling off my skates and socks and letting the cool air hit my overheated skin.Just then, Jaxon came out of the showers with a towel around his waist and plopped beside me after grabbing a hoodie from his locker. His perpetually messy black hair flopped into his eyes as he grumbled under his breath about something.“Man if I fail another AP class, my mom’s going to disown me,” he muttered, pulling at his hoodie strings. Was that a GQ sweater? I swear to God this idiot I call my best friend could be obsessed with designer brands like it was his last meal.Shaking my head, I chuckled at