Page 37 of Forbidden Hockey

“It is, though. It’s always been. You win this time. No sex, but our fucking weird-ass marriage remains as before.”

“I think we need to clear that up?—”

“Then you’re saying you’re fine with me dating other people?”

I’m up and out of my chair, breaking the rules—they’re stupid rules anyway—crowding him against the door, curling my fingers around his throat. He freezes underneath me. “You little fucking whore. Anyone who touches you gets dipped in a vat of acid,” I growl.

“Fine.” He grits his teeth. He thinks I’m just saying shit without any idea that I can actually make it happen. “Anyone who touches you loses a hand.”

“And if I ever see you flaunting yourself around here for others, in my fucking restaurant, I’ll take my belt to your ass until it’s as purple as an eggplant, so there’s no mistaking who it belongs to, understood?”

He swallows, eyes blowing wide with lust. “Understood.”

Fuck, if none of that sends him running, I don’t know that anything will.

“As long as you know that I’m it for you, baby,” he says. “You don’t have to fuck me, don’t have to hold my hand in public, youdon’t even have to tell a soul. But cheat on me and I’ll cut your dick off. Understood?”

Cheat.As if we’re in some kind of a relationship. Are we? Not sure. Don’t know if I can classify this level of fucked up as a relationship.

“Fine. One more thing. Take this slutty ass jacket off. I never want to see you in it again.”

He rolls his eyes. “I can’t do that, genius. If I’m not wearing a kitchen uniform, people will know something’s up.”

He’s right. I wanna fucking punch something.

“Anything else?” he says, when I’ve said nothing for two whole minutes.

“No.”

“Perfect, see you later, dear,” he threatens, pushing me off him. I’m too startled to recapture him, but boy, do I wanna go after him. He’s mine, and what’s mine should fucking stay put until I release him.

Instead, I watch him go, leaving calmer than the chaos in his wake. The door clicks shut behind him like a bad omen.

God fucking dammit. That did not go as I planned.

Chapter

Three

Dirk

I’ve changed my mind. This is so much more fun. I don’t have to watch Trav leave for a date, or have pretty, big-breasted women sitting on his lap in the bar anymore. I used to wonder about that. They always had giant tits—something I don’t have, obviously—was that something he actually liked? Or was it so opposite to me, he was forcing it on himself?

Doesn’t matter now. That’s over. Don’t even know what I’m hoping to get out of this, but him off limits to everyone is a damn good start.

I finish my bar cleanup. It’s Friday, four days since my nice little chat with Trav, and I’ve got dinner with Hunter. I love my brother to death, but he still manages to set my nerves into panic mode. I glance at myself in the bar well’s mirror. I should have cut my fucking hair.

Trav stops by. I think it’s to wish me a good night—maybe with a kiss?—but the frown on his face says otherwise. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Um, my brother’s?”

“Isn’t that tomorrow?”

“You know damn well that it’s in an hour. If I’m late, I’ll be lectured for the entire fucking night. You know that, too, so say whatever shit you need to, and then I’m leaving.”

“You didn’t check your schedule.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Check my…” What the fuck game is he playing here? “You already gave me the time off.”