Page 126 of Forbidden Hockey

He lazily strokes, kissing me in all the right places, ratcheting my arousal, the muscles in my abs straining to hold back. Trav suspends me at that delicious edge as I become a babbling mess.

“Fuck, Trav, please. Please let me come…”

There’s an all-too familiar creak—Trav’s creaky third step. Trav drops my cock like it’s a bomb, which is kinda true in this instance. I was so fucking close to going off. The sudden intrusion’s not enough to take the wind from my cock’s sails; it fucking throbs. There’s no knock, of course, before we hear the door swing open. I glare.

“He needs to fucking knock, Trav,” I say, jumping the fuck outta bed. Are we caught? Is this the moment? Fuck. I’ve told him at least seven hundred times now. But does he do anything about it? Nooooo.

Trav winces, springing up, bare feet planting on the floor. “I talked to him.”

“You did fucking not.” He told me what he thought talking to him was. He can’t scold Dash to save his life.

“Dad?” Dash says from beyond the door.

“Fuck,” Trav says too fucking loud. “We’re in here, Dashie! Ah, just a second.”

“We?” I whisper-hiss as I scramble to find my jeans. Where the fuck—oh, there they are. I hop into them as Trav tosses a t-shirt at me, pulling on a white tank. He’s lucky he doesn’t have as much hair as he used to; all he had to do was run his fingers through it. I have a mop that’s probably a dead giveaway. Thank fuck for hats. I slip mine on backward. “What now?”

He looks around. “Grab the other side of this dresser.”

I don’t need to analyze his plan to know it’s a bad one, but I don’t have a better one, so I follow suit. My heart’s beating out of my damn chest. There’s legit sweat collecting under my cap already as Trav swings the bedroom door open and we move through the narrow doorframe, only just fitting the heavy-ass oak dresser through.

Dash looks like hell and freedom wrapped into one body. His hair’s mussed and his eyes droop, the dark circles from all the time spent aching for Stacey fucking Alderchuck haven’t left him yet, but a weight’s gone from his shoulders. He squints as if he can’t be seeing what he’s seeing.

“What are you two doing?”

“Oh, Dirk here was helping me move the dresser. Got a guy from Marketplace coming here to buy it.”

“Um,why?” Dash is fucking slack-jawed.

“Getting a new one.”

I almost drop the dresser. Has Trav lost his mind? Everyone knows he doesn’t get rid of shit. He’s had this dresser since they invented dressers. He might as well just tell Dash we’re together.

“You kept saying this thing was so old. Finally took your advice. Need something?”

Dash raises his brows, not really sure what to do with that, so instead he throws himself on the couch. “Syd and I broke up—I broke things off, for the record.”

Never have I been more thrilled about him breaking up with someone, but also so fucking over it at the same time. I want Trav to finish what he started. But is that gonna happen? No. He’s called off his engagement, and he still doesn’t know what he should do about him and Stacey, so he needs a pep talk from his dad.

“I’m gonna lock you two in a room if you don’t get your shit together,” I grumble.

“Dirk,” Trav scolds. How fucking dare he?

“You don’t have to hear ‘em. Seven years of this crap.” I know I’m being harsh, but it’s true. He can have what he’s always wanted, and he’s here yammering at us.

Trav gives me a withering glare, and I throw my hands up, storming over to the kitchen. Trav rarely keeps anything more than beer and coffee cream in this fridge. When he needs stuff, he gets it from the restaurant. Know what? It’s five o’clock somewhere. I could use a breakfast beer. My dick’s hard enough to cut glass right now. Worst orgasm denial ever.

I lean against the counter, taking a long pull of foamy liquid hops. It’s better I keep my mouth busy, so I don’t say anything else.

“Dirk’s not saying it with the grace he usually does, but I agree with the sentiment—get your ass down there and talk to him.”

“Well, this has been a waste of my time. Thanks for nothin’, you two. I want a pair of dads like Jack has. You don’t have anyone to rein you in, Pops.”

I spit out my beer, doubling over with laughter. “Yeah, Trav. You need a man to rein you in.”

Trav scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting around, probably praying Dash doesn’t inquire about his dating life. Dash doesn’t seem to pick up on the mild panic he’s experiencing, but I do. I know too many of Trav’s tells from having spent so much time studying him.

I’ve changed my mind. Things just got interesting. I wanna hear what else he’ll say, while Trav squirms for once.