All Chapters of Puck Me Hard: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Noah’s P.O.V Ever since I bolted out of Dorian’s room like a coward, the last time I’d ever been in close proximity with him was at the game where I ended up punching him in the face. I felt so cowardly and disgusted with myself after, that I had Jaxon’s roommate switch rooms with me so I didn’t have to face Dorian when he returned to the hotel room. Fear was a bitch and it had me running from the only one who’s ever made me feel emotions so strongly it resonated down to my bone. I was a gutless bastard, too terrified to own up to the way Dorian set me on fire. I’d known that I couldn’t avoid Dorian forever especially since I would soon return to hockey, but I’d hoped to drag it out for as long as I could because I couldn’t give Dorian the answers to the questions he would ask me. They were too raw to be spoken out loud and that was why I could only share it over text with Redline87. But when I heard Dorian had gotten into a fight with that meathead, Matt, and was in a really bad fuck

Noah’s P.O.VDorian pulled the old Chevy to a stop, a sputtering noise echoing from its engine before it finally stopped. We’d been driving for hours, the Minnesota wilderness stretching out endlessly until a little cottage appeared, nestled against a glassy lake that shimmered under the afternoon sun. In the silence that followed, I glanced over at Dorian. His long fingers were still gripping the wheel and his knuckles were scraped raw from his fight with Matt. The swelling around his eyes had lessened a lot, but honestly, Dorian was the only one I knew who still managed to look scrumptious while he was roughed up. When he noticed me looking at him, he flicked his green eyes to me for a second, before he yanked the keys out of the ignition.Neither of us said a word as we alighted and Dorian rounded the car to the trunk, opened it, and pulled out our bags before tossing mine at me. My fingers closed around the worn strap, still not sure why the fuck I even let him drive me here.Stil

Noah’s P.O.V.On the way back to the lake house, my stomach grumbled quite loudly, reminding us that we didn't have breakfast so Dorian rolled up to this little breakfast cafe off the highway, some hole-in-the-wall spot with checkered floors and the smell of bacon thick in the air. I slid into the booth across from Dorian, and the second our eyes locked, it was like some sappy butterflies in the stomach type of shit, straight out of a movie—Dorian kept giving me these damn looks. Eyes soft, lips twitching in that lazy, knowing smirk. It made my stomach tighten, not with nerves, but with something sweeter.. He grinned at me, all messy red hair and sharp green eyes, and I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought happiness like this was off the table. Out here, miles from hockey, from the team, from my dad’s bullshit, I could just… be myself, Noah Carter. Not the star hockey player or the Golden boy captain. No masks, no pressure. Just me and him, and it felt so fucking good I almost didn’t

Dorian’s P.O.V.I was scrubbing my hands under the lukewarm water, the soap suds swirling down the drain, and all I could think about was how fucking perfect that day had been. Noah—shit, that golden boy had burrowed under my skin, deeper than I’d ever let anyone get. The lake house, the drive, the perfect time we had skiing together, his dumbass laugh when I burned my tongue on that shitty diner coffee earlier—it was the best damn time I’d ever had with anyone, hands down. Even with the mess of what had happened in the bathroom with that bigot and also with Noah bolting out after and sharing how vulnerable he was about coming out, it had been… fuck, it had been good. Too good. My chest tightened with it, and I hated that. The whole damn day was supposed to be a play to reel him in, disarm him, make him fall so hard for me he’d never see the knife coming. But standing there, water dripping off my hands, I couldn’t lie to myself. It had been fucking lovely, and a piece of me, some wea

Noah’s P.O.V.The drive back to the lake house was like moving with a pressure cooker, and the air between us was thick with unspoken fury, well, mostly from me. I slouched in the passenger seat of stupid rented beat-up Chevy, arms crossed over my chest, my biceps flexing under my jacket as the tension refused to leave my body. The hum of the engine rattled through the silence, and my jaw ached from clenching it so hard, teeth grinding like I could chew through steel. My lips still throbbed, split and swollen from that feral kiss outside the theater, the taste of his blood lingering on my tongue.Meanwhile Dorian was gripping the wheel so hard his pale knuckles turned white, that red hair catching the faint glow of every passing streetlights. His green eyes stayed fixed on the road, but I could feel the heat radiating off him—anger, yeah, but something else too, something that made my skin prickle.He broke the silence first, voice rough as gravel. “You really going back to campus? I