Page 90 of Breakneck Hockey

So did I.

Until … this is Rhett’s fault.

“End it if it’s making you that miserable. Only love’s supposed to make you miserable. It’s not worth it for anything else, dude. Even amazing sex.”

I smirk. “You don’t know how good the sex is, man, but you’re right.” I stir the ketchup into my mac ‘n’ cheese and even this reminds me of how fucking different Sutter and I are. He thinks ketchup on mac ‘n’ cheese is disgusting. He doesn’t like sweets. I’m not even sure if he likes poutine. Poutine is a dealbreaker for me. If I can’t enjoy poutine with you, we can’t date.

Jack’s still staring at me. He frowns.

“C’mon, man. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll figure this out. It’s Sutter. Worse comes to worse, I’ll take out my feelings on him next game. We have a system. Tell me about the Meyers. How’s Theo’s online candy shop doing?”

Jack has become a Meyer by this point. He was adopted by them quickly, and I can’t even picture a time when he wasn’t part of their family. That’s saying something, because he didn’t move in with Mercy all that long ago. They aren’t married—yet—even though they have a son together. And y’know? They’re as unconventional as it gets, but they’re so fucking happy. The only thing that ever makes Jack miserable is being away from them.

I think I could be happy with unconventional, too. I’m not looking for white picket fences and two point five children but growing old with someone might be nice.

We sit at the table and shoot the shit. I peck at my ketchuporoni. Is it the ketchup? Do I gross Sutter out with my ketchup that much? If so, fuck him. Any man of mine has to love my ketchup-loving ways. Dealbreaker number two.

My phone buzzes in my pocket a few times. I check it in case it’s important.

Top Dog

This is your fault, Alderchuck.

Underneath is a picture of … “Nacho poutine! What the fuck? How have I never had nacho poutine?”

Top Dog

I was compelled to buy this because I knew it would make you jealous.

Damn right, I’m jealous. What a dickface, eating nacho poutine without me. It looks fucking delicious. Look at the cheese. Look at the olives. Wait, no! Are those jalapenos? They are. My mouth waters. Fuck, I think I’m even a little turned on.

There are three more images, all of Sutter enjoying the fuck out of that poutine. If I thought he was hot before, I knew nothing. Sutter downing nacho poutine is my new Roman Empire.

“Fucking cocksucker.”

Jack laughs. “What’s going on over there?”

I show him the damning evidence. Jack figures it out right away. “Holy shit. Sutter’s cheating on you with poutine.”

Yeah, with poutine. How else would he cheat on me? According to our parameters, he can have another guy’s dick in his mouth and so can I. He can have a lot more than that. Our only rule is no repeats. I guess there’s that, but do repeats matter all that much if we’re just fucking? Oh, and I guess Sutter spouted off that other rule about no hookups when we’re in the same city. I didn’t agree to it, but only because I’m hoping he’ll abduct me again. He knows that’s why, doesn’t he?

Another picture comes through. This time I catch a glimpse of someone else beside him. I recognize the guy. Nicci. The guy who plays for Boston, who I’ve seen flirting with him, and he’s eating poutine with my Sutter. Sutter hasn’t even done that with me yet. The last time, I ate poutine in front of him, but he didn’t eat it with me.

My fists clench, and my stomach knots. I show Jack the new picture. He laughs. “Sutter’s digging a grave for himself, and he doesn’t even know it.”

He sure fucking is.

Top Dog

All that food porn and still nothing?

Me

Don’t expect anything from me when you cheat on me with poutine.

Top Dog

Is that a serious message?

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