Page 152 of Forbidden Hockey

Maverick’s still watching the kitchen door like a bloodhound, even after Sutter’s gone. “Don’t you ever relax? He’s not going anywhere, Maverick.”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite. As if you relax around your man. No, our men know they’re never alone. Guys like us don’t trust the world with our men.”

Going after Robin means leaving Dirk vulnerable. Means trusting the world with him, when I don’t.

Maverick’s smirking.

“What?” I ask. I haven’t said anything, but maybe the lion slipped out of my eyes.

“I’m glad there are more of us.”

“More of us?”

Bryce is next out of the kitchen door, dressed for work. His gaze finds Maverick immediately, scowling. Then he stalks toward the hostess stand, presumably to find out which section the bartenders have tonight.

“That’s my cue, Nolan,” Maverick says. “But I second Sutter’s idea, for the record. Trail Robin. Have the rest of us on standby. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He swipes his soda from the bar top, with my glaring eyes at his back. Is Maverick a bad guy or a good guy? I can’t tell.

I turn my phone on, hoping Dirk’s finally texted me and we can end this fight. There are several messages from Maxwell, which I ignore, but there’s also one from Dash. Reading it sets my heart off at a gallop.

Dash

First of all, I approve. Second, I think the wedding should be in Tofino.

Squinting at my phone, I read the message again. Wedding? Does Dash…? Okay, enough of this.

Me

There a reason I’m getting suggestions for wedding venues from Dash?

Pretty Boy

He figured us out.

Yeah, no shit.

He started planning our wedding, so I’m gonna go ahead and say he’s fine with it.

Me

Get your ass over here, Dirk.

Pretty Boy

No.

Me

Don’t make me retrieve you.

He doesn’t respond, but it feels more like a dare than a real no. And if Dash and Stacey know anyway, guess it’s fine for me to show up at their house.

Fuck an extra day.Your time is up, pretty boy. Time to throw you over my bike and drag you back to my bed, caveman style.

The scent of burnt rubber laced with gasoline rides the wind, and the low rumble of my bike vibrates through my chest until it roars to a stop on the sidewalk outside the two-story character home. I kill the engine’s deep growl, and silence rushes in, only the odd call of a crow echoing off the pavement. I hop off, removing my helmet, leather jacket creaking. Wet air brushes my skin—it’s gonna rain.

There’s movement at the window, curtains swaying, and then Dash runs out—barefoot—arms open. Bet he’s the distraction, ormaybe he’s here to calm me down, talk sense into me. None of that’s happening.