Page 66 of Breakneck Hockey

Remind me why I’m here again? Right, because I’m addicted to his ass. This is so unfair. He laughs at the disgusted look on my face and sets the box of poutine down. I grab napkins off the table and sop up as much of the gravy on my sweatshirt as I can.

“I got you salad and, like, sixteen chicken breasts with some sides of rice to fill in all your beastly muscles. The poutine was just to fuck with you, though, I am eating this. It’s what dreams are made of.”

He climbs off my lap and sits in the chair opposite me, doing a decent impression of a mature adult until he squeezes half a bottle of ketchup onto his poutine-mac ‘n’ cheese nightmare. That should be illegal.

“We gotta get serious here for a second, there’s something I want to say.”

I lean back, sitting up taller, even though Alderchuck saying he wants to be serious is like a squirrel telling you he wants to have a business meeting. But, okay.

“I shouldn’t have given you an ultimatum like that. It wasn’t fair. I was losing it because I … well it doesn’t matter. I like this, fighting, fucking, me making you regret your life choices while you watch me eat your weight in food. It’s good. Why ruin a good thing, right?”

“That’s what I said.”

“I know. We agree on something—that’s a miracle in and of itself. I have a but, though.”

My stomach clenches. Buts are never good.

“We’re not exclusive. I’m going to see other people.”

That shatters everything. “The fuck you are, Alderchuck.”

He glares. “You’re not the boss of me, Sutter. You don’t want to commit? Fine, but I’m keeping my options open. We can do this—whatever this is—until we get it out of our system. Bubblegum, remember?”

None of that’s fucking happening. He can think that all he wants. It’ll be tough to keep him away from other men while I’m on the road, but I’m sure I can concoct ways to interfere as often as possible.

“Sure, kitten.”

He forks some more cheesy, ketchup, macaroni-laden poutine into his mouth, and I pray for his disgusting eating habits to finally turn me off. They don’t, I want to lick the gravy off his face. I’ll suck ketchup off his dick if it lands there.

Cursed. I must be cursed. That’s the only explanation for my obsession with him and the food that falls on him.

“Whatever it is you think you’re going to do, you aren’t.”

I shrug. “Guess we’ll see.”

“We’re on the road, anyway. You play for the East, and I play for the West. We’re barely going to see each other. Being exclusive doesn’t even make sense.”

How’s he so damn nonchalant about all this? It’s just like him. Now that I’ve decided I give a fuck, he doesn’t give a fuck.

“My team manager and your team manager are gonna think it’s weird if we don’t have something going on,” he continues. “We’ve got to leave a trail, a breadcrumb trail of one-night conquests.”

I don’t like it, but he has a point. The stipulations to my “relationship suspension” are a bit different than his “don’t fuck with Boston” rule, but I don’t doubt that Gina will keep her ear to the ground for the rumor mill. I’ll need something to feed it. Plus, I’m pretty sure the only relationship she really wants to keep me from is the one with Casey. It’s as if she can tell how stupid it makes me.

“Alright, fine. But the rule is one night. No one gets a repeat, except us.”

Casey chews on his chapped bottom lip. “No repeats, except us,” he echoes.

Still, if I have my way, I’m keeping his one-night conquests to a minimum.

Chapter 12

Boat Knots

Casey

Top Dog

How the fuck did you spend a thousand dollars on porn in that hotel room, Alderchuck?

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