Page 26 of Forbidden Hockey

If only Stacey knew how bad that was going. She’s sick of his work schedule. It’s always the same with Hunt. He’s married to his job. No man or woman has ever been able to make him fall harder than he has for a construction site. It’s too bad, she’s sweet, and Hunt just isn’t.

“He’s into men?” Stacey says, still stuck on that point. Probably because all his hopes and dreams of Hunter being out of Dash’s realm of possibilities just got shot to shit.

“Yeah, he’s like Dad,” Dash says. “Into more than one gender.”

My hand slips, bottles topple like bowling pins, crashing. “Trav’s into dudes?” My heart’s beating so damn fast it’s in danger of stopping.

Dash lies back, placing his grimy feet on the fucking counter. Stacey should spank his ass for that, but Trav’s not the only one who lets Dash get away with murder. “Yep.”

“I’ve never seen him with one,” I mutter more to myself.Where the fuck are you, Corona? Did somebody drink you?Figures. Ugh. Guess I gotta go to the liquor store.

Or The Wicklow. We have plenty of Corona at The Wicklow. I know because I went with Trav to pick up the liquor order.

Am I really thinking about going to The Wicklow on my only day off this week? Yes. Because all I had to worry about before was Trav being with women, now men have entered the chat. Fuck. It’s too late to talk myself out of it. What I’m about to do is fueled by jealousy and my unhealthy need to be with Trav night and day.

Me

You busy, Trav? Hoping you could take a look at my arm. It might not be so fine after all.

I send it before I talk myself out of what a stupid idea this is. And it is. Not only is the cut on my arm the “knife equivalent” of a papercut, as soon as I get there, he’ll see I’m full of shit. That it’s all a ploy. A ploy to what, though? Keep men away from him? Does that mean I’m okay with him dating women? No. Not even a little bit, gender doesn’t matter, but it’s somehow just a little easier to swallow. Tolerate.

Trav

Get your ass over here. Or do you need me to come there?

Hmmm. Maybe I went too hard about the arm.

Me

I’ll come there.

But I panic.Dirk, you jealous fool, stay the fuck home.

I head to the restaurant anyway, as if compelled.

It’s noon, they’re in the middle of a mild rush. I get a few looks, because if I’m not already on the floor, it means I’m not working, so why am I here?

Good question. Wish I knew.

Trav’s in the kitchen, dressed in one of the black chef’s jackets. The short sleeves reach the crest of his biceps, thebottom of his skull tattoo peeking out. He’s got a pen over his ear, and he hasn’t shaved yet, a nice dusting of coarse hair contours his strong jawline.

Wait, he’s busy? He answered his phone and told me to get over here, even though he’s busy?

Just like he’d do for Dash—not a big deal.

Why am I getting Dash-level care?

As if he senses I’ve walked in, he turns, setting his indigo eyes on me. A smile breaks across his lips, the kind that happens instinctively, and fluttery butterflies bombard my insides. He turns to stone just as quickly, eyes flicking around as if checking if he was caught smiling at me.

No one saw.

Just me.

He leaves the line like it’s meaningless, like he doesn’t give a fuck if it crumbles and dies.

“C’mon upstairs. I have better stuff up there,” he adds when I raise a brow.

I’ve been in Trav’s apartment many times. I hung out here with Dash a lot when he lived here, and I got comfortable seeking refuge here if I only had an hour between a double shift. But as soon as my feelings for Trav began to shift, I spent less time. Though I’ve forced myself to come up to keep the visage of “normal”. It means Trav and I have caught the odd show together by default. I’ll have something on when he comes up to grab a clean shirt, and if what I have on looks interesting, he’ll sit on the couch—way at the other end—and watch with me.