Page 65 of Forbidden Hockey

Um, hmmm. Maybe it’s a wonder we haven’t been discovered yet. We check all the boxes. Unfortunately, I think it’s more a testament to how unlikely we are, and that’s shitty.

“That’s because you’re always with Stacey.” He frowns, and I know why, but it’s true. When Dash and I were little, we were inseparable. He’s still my best friend forever, but when Stacey entered his life, his focus shifted. I’m not mad about it because I know they’re gonna end up together one day—as soon as they get their heads out of their asses—and that’s the way it should be with the love of your life. But it’s still a fucking fact. I hung out more with Trav because I hung out less with Dash.

And, yeah, I could have shifted my focus to my other friends, but Trav’s my person. I know he is. It was natural for us to gravitate toward each other eventually, irrevocably pulled together by a force bigger than us.

Ugh. I wanna tell Dash so fucking bad.

Dash shrugs off the frown, and I’m certain that whatever’s about to come out of his mouth is gonna be snarky as fuck.

“You could have hung with Jack or Case, but you picked my dad. Maybe you’re the one who left the hickey on his neck.”

A cold sheen spreads over my body. Fuck.Fuck!If I can’t even throw Dash off the scent, how am I gonna throw my brother off? I should’ve made up a story about some random date he had, but even the thought of him dating someone else—yeah, that I made up—twists my gut.

Dash cackles. “You should see your face. You deserve it for saying what you said. As if I don’t want Stacey with my whole being. And now we’re gonna be apart for a whole season—I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He crawls into my lap, and I’m so fucking relieved that the heat’s off Trav and me that I do what I always do, encircle my arms around him to comfort him. And I feel for him, I do. I’m constantly commenting on how they should get their shittogether, and I get that their situation is complicated. But the top question on my mind is: Would Trav have a fit if he saw me on the couch like this with his son?

Yeah, he would. He’d get so fucking jealous. He’d probably—finally—toss me over any available surface and claim my ass. It would be so damn hot. I need more ways to make him jealous without him stabbing someone.

Also, Icannotthink about Trav’s dick right now.Focus, Boulder.

I put my attention where it should be, on Dash. Sometimes I wanna punch Stacey in the face.

Chapter

Ten

Trav

We have a serious problem. We can’t keep our hands off each other. At least we’re as bad as the other. After nearly getting caught out for a hickey, we’ve been careful to leave marks only where they can’t be seen.

I—the evil fucker that I am—made sure to leave a few across his pec, making it impossible for him to take his shirt off at the beach without being questioned by the Inquisition. The inquisition being his friends.

What? I don’t want anyone looking at what’s mine. He’s mine. Just mine. I don’t share.

It’s a little harder for him to do that to me with all the tattoos I have, but he’s got his own subtle ways of staking his claim, like keeping his eyes on me when he thinks no one’s looking. Letting me know he’s always watching me.

Tonight, though, tonight’s a big night. He’s staying over. Hockey training camp starts soon, and he’ll be gone. But we’ve made a pact not to talk about it, which was a source of entertainment for us. The two least talkative people are suddenly so talkative with each other that we had to make a pact not to talk.

I want him bad. It’s reached levels I’d never have been able to comprehend. I think I have to make him mine tonight.

Finally.

Everyone’s gone.

Turning the lock, I shut off the outside lights but leave the ones to the front of the restaurant on. Then a switch flips inside of me, and I become something I haven’t been in a long time: a goddamn predator on a hunt. Dirk’s my prey. He comes out of the kitchen, still wearing his kitchen jacket and one of the black kitchen ballcaps spun backward on his head.

“Hey, Trav, have you seen the—holy shit.”

Guess he’s noticed the animal that’s taken over me.

“Get your ass upstairs,” I growl, flexing my fingers, waiting, offering a few seconds’ head start.

He freezes briefly, a mixture of fear and arousal playing on his face. Dirk turns heel and runs. I chase him through the restaurant, barreling through the two-way door, almost taking it off the hinges. I catch him on the stairs, leading to the apartment.

It says something of my desire for him that I could catch up. I know the man’s a demon on skates and in peak condition.

Yanking on his pant leg, I bring him down with me on the stairs. I’m half on top of him, his leg pinned under my upper body, but I don’t have a grasp on his upper half I’d like to. I claw, tearing at his pants, but he gets the game and doesn’t want to be easy prey.