Page 38 of Forbidden Hockey

He takes a glance around the restaurant. It’s empty except for the one lone hostee, wiping off menus at the front, in between the text conversation I know she’s having with her boyfriend. Trav steps closer.

“That was before we ‘got married’,” he says in a low voice with air quotes—I wish I hadn’t taught him about air quotes—around the words got married. That fucking tone goes straight to my cock for reasons unknown to me. “You’re responsible for half the restaurant now, dearest.”

The blood drains from my body. That’s not a real thing. It can’t be. No, it’s definitely not, but he would punish me with something like that for manipulating him. He knows me well enough to know how responsible I’ll feel, that I won’t leave him or the restaurant high and dry just because he’s an asshole.

I whip out my phone to check and, sure enough, I’ve got a lot more shifts than I’ve ever had before. The bastard smirks.

“I have to go to Hunter’s tonight. You know what he’s like.” My voice croaks, veins racing with adrenaline.

“You knoooow, I’m available tonight. Icouldwork for you?—”

“So do it, asshole.”

“Hmmm. That’s not very nice.”

“Gah. Trav!”

Somehow, he gets closer without touching me, but definitely invades the airspace around my body.

“Ask me to take the shift for you. Nicely,” he warns.

Why is this hot? Why am I into it?

I’ve got it. Because he’s taking back the control I stole four days ago. He was the one all over me, but it’s because I pushed him, dangling the idea of me with someone else, shattering the fragile illusion of control he thinks he has.

I love when he’s dominant like this, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t fight him on it.

“You can’t change my schedule without letting me know. I’m not doing shit.”

He checks on the host again. She’s deep into her phone this time. Trav grips my collar and drags me around the corner. Holy shit. His hands are on me. Again. They burn, burn so fucking good. He slams me against the wall between the public washroom and the bar. I exhale a sharpoof!

“You gave up fair when you did what you did the other day.”

“Nothing about this is fair,” I hiss.

“I’m not giving you permission to leave unless you ask. If you leave anyway, you do it without my permission.” He shrugs.

The man might know me too well. Dangerously too well. He’s so damn beautiful right now, his long hair falling over his eyes. I don’t know why that matters, but it does, somehow also working to manipulate me.

I take a breath. “Can I?—”

“MayI,” he corrects.

That’s how the staff gets each other’s attention in the restaurant. Everyone’s always in the middle of twenty things, sometimes you need the ability to say, “Not fucking now.”

“May I have dinner with my brother instead of working tonight?” I say as air deserts my lungs. Fucking dammit, that’s humiliating and hot. So. Fucking. Hot. And now I know there’s a second reason he did this, other than bringing the ball back to his court. His dick must be suffering. He wants my dick to suffer as much as his is.

“Good boy,” he says.

My cheeks heat. Jesus. Total kryptonite when he says it, too. “Well?”

He smiles. “Yeah, you may go. I guess I’ll work for you. Make sure you observe the new schedule, husband dear.”

Yeah, there’s way too much sass on the word husband. I might skin Trav alive before the summer’s through, but I’m the one who started this war. What’s that saying about making your bed? But if I have to lie in it, shouldn’t I at least get fucked in it, too?

Crack!Handprint-shaped pain blossoms on my ass. “Ow,” I whisper-yell.

“Till ten pm should give you enough time.”