Page 19 of Forbidden Hockey

My brain catches on something else. “He threatened you?” When I went to Trav’s office, he was there, so I assumed he’d been there the whole time, but there was plenty of time—about thirty minutes—for Trav to come out here first.

“Yeah, I almost left. I’m here for a good time, not a long time—dealing with overprotective dads and psycho ex-boyfriends ain’t on the docket.”

“Wh-What did he say?”

“He said that if he should find that I’ve harmed one hair on your pretty head, there’s no hole I could hide in that he and his friends couldn’t find me.”

Pretty? Trav thinks I’m pretty?

Fuck. That shouldn’t be my first fucking thought here. Plus, I’m not pretty. I’m manly. I’m a hockey player. Fuuuuuuck, though. My cheeks heat. Can this guy see me blushing? And my cheeks aren’t the only place blood rushes. Suddenly, my jeans are too restrictive, my cock straining behind the denim.

Don’t squirm. Don’t you fucking squirm, Boulder.

“Anyway, it was such a fucking generic threat that it was hard to keep from laughing.”

Is this guy so fucking oblivious that he can’t recognize real danger when it walks up to him in a restaurant and promises to skin him alive? I’ve known Trav long enough to know he never makes an idle threat.

Trav promised to hunt this man down if he hurt me.

That’s hot. We’re talking “incinerate my nuts” hot. I squeeze my thick hockey thighs together under the table, a weak attempt to release some of the pent-up arousal in my heavy balls and bite back the moan that wants to fall off my lips.

“Anyway, can we get out of here now?” he says.

Yeah, that’s definitely for the best.

I get up and head out with him, but not without a last look at the bar. Trav’s involved in a conversation with Dash, and they’re laughing about something. Trav didn’t look at me in any kind of way. This guy’s off his rocker. And the threat? I’m sure it was very real, but it’s because we’re friends. Ugh, or maybe he does see me as just one of his son’s friends and is protective in a parental way. First of all,ew. Second, fuck my life. I’ve already gone down the rabbit hole, imagining the first scenario. The one where Trav wants me. Is jealous that I’m letting another man touch what’s his.

And I don’t know that I wanna stop.

Doesn’t matter what I want, though. No way am I approaching Trav about something this huge without concrete evidence.

Hunt and Trav help me and Dash move in with the Alderchucks—what a great day to wear one of my new crop tops that Trav seems to love so much. Heavy sarcasm on the love. I’m not even into Daddy kink, but I found one brightly displaying “Daddy’s Boy” and I knew if he was gonna get riled, this would do it.

No one looks at someone the way he looked at you without feeling some kind of ownership.

I’m not even seeing the guy who said the words anymore, but I can’t stop thinking them. If he was right, no one who feels ownership over someone would like the idea of their, uh, property being someone else’s Daddy’s boy.

It’s hard not to check Trav out, especially when he’s in a tank top, all his tattoos out proudly, and I’m dying to see his reaction to my shirt. I breeze by him like it’s no big deal, that I don’t give a shit. And it’s mission-fucking-accomplished. I can’t see his eyes, but I feel them burning across my exposed skin.

My insides turn to hot mush, but somehow, I manage not to acknowledge Trav. I can’t. If Hunter knew what I was doing, not only would moving out be off, but he’d lock me in a cement prison for the next ten years. And I have no fucking chill about this, I won’t be able to lock eyes with Trav and keep my cool, so I stay the hell away from him for the rest of moving day.

Hunter helped me paint away the frilly granny vibe the room had going. Stacey told me to do whatever I wanted to the room. The more different, the better, he’d said—whatever that meant. Once I’m settled, Hunter lingers at the door, one hand braced on the frame.

“Well, guess I’ll leave you to it,” he says, and he doesn’t just mean for today, but for the rest of my life. Like he knew it was time to step back and let me be my own man, even if letting go scraped against his every instinct.

But Hunter is Hunter. I doubt he’ll ever be able to let go completely.

My heart stutters, and the words choke in my throat. Stupid tears burn behind my eyes. All of it’s ridiculous because Hunter doesn’t live that far away. I’m still gonna see him all the time. He’ll always be the first in line to help me with whatever I need. No way he’d ever abandon me. If there’s one thing I can count on in life, it’s Hunter.

But something feels final. A door closing. A chapter in my life ending forever.

I’m not gonna hear his heavy boots stomp in the door when he gets home from work. He won’t be on me to get the chores done that I put off until the last possible minute—yeah, I’ll miss that for some reason, but couldn’t tell you why. I’ll miss our morning chats, and coffee, and every night dinners, and … and?—

What am I doing? Why did I do this?

I slam into Hunter, circling him in a vice grip. He squeezes me to him.

“Hey, I’m never gonna be too far,” he says.